St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
April 24, 2011
Easter Day
Jeremiah 3:1-6
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
Acts of the Apostles 10:34-43
John 20:1-18
An Everlasting Love
Alleluia! Christ is Risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
In today’s first reading God speaks through the Prophet Jeremiah to the people of Israel who were captives in Babylon. Through Jeremiah, God promises a homecoming – a restoration to the way things were always meant to be.
Through Jeremiah God says, “I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you.”
The story of God and humanity is a story of God loving us with an everlasting love. It’s a story of God reaching out to us – reaching out to us, over and over.
Unfortunately, the story of God and humanity is also a story of humanity rejecting God’s everlasting love; a story of humanity hiding in shame from God just as in the story of Adam and Eve hiding from God in the garden.
But despite all of that human rejection and all of that human hiding, through prophets like Jeremiah, God continued to reach out to us.
And, then in the fullness of time, God reached out to us in a unique and final way, in the life, death and resurrection Jesus of Nazareth.
When we look at Jesus we see God’s everlasting love.
When we look at Jesus we see what God is really like.
And when we look at Jesus we see what we are meant to be like – what we were always meant to be like.
In Jesus, we see a God who enters the world on the margins – in out of the way places like Bethlehem, born to a couple of nobodies, surrounded by shepherds and farm animals.
In Jesus, we see a God who is most easily found with the poor and the outcast – a God most easily found with the people hanging out in downtown Gainesville at Bo Diddley Plaza or waiting in line for a meal at St. Francis House.
In Jesus, we see a God who especially loves the mourners and the persecuted. In God’s kingdom they are the blessed ones.
In Jesus, we see a God who loves us enough to experience the worst rejection - a God who loves us enough to die for us.
But, God’s love for us is an everlasting love. So, death of Jesus on the cross is not the end of the story.
God continues to reach out to us.
That’s the amazingly good news that we celebrate on Easter. That’s the amazingly good news that Mary Magdalene discovered – in what is one of the most powerful and beautiful passages in Scripture.
We’re told that Mary came to the tomb on the first day of the week.
We’re not told why she’s there, but any of us who have ever visited the grave of one we love know why. It must seem to her that all that’s left of Jesus is memory - and a dead body just beyond view.
Then to Mary’s shock and horror, just when it seemed there could not be any more bad news in this whole sad story, she discovered the open and empty tomb.
Peter and the other disciple look into the tomb, discover it empty and then run back home – maybe back to hiding?
But not Mary Magdalene. No hiding for her. She stands and weeps. She stands and weeps, representing all of us who have wept over our sad and broken world, who have wept over the cruelty of the world, who have wept over a world filled with so much suffering and loss.
But, despite all of our rejection and hiding, despite all of our own cruelty and selfishness, God loves us with an everlasting love.
Mary discovered God’s everlasting love when she heard the resurrected Christ call her by name, “Mary!”
Mary discovered that not even death itself can defeat God’s everlasting love of us.
And then Mary went and told the others. She went and told them, “I have seen the Lord.”
And now two thousand years later, here we are on Easter Day in Gainesville, Florida. Here we are gathered in this place, telling and hearing these old stories of God’s everlasting love.
They are the best stories, but, we wouldn’t come here to tell and to hear these old stories of God’s everlasting love, if we can’t also experience God’s everlasting love in our own lives.
If we open our hearts, if we really pay attention, if we don’t try to hide, we also can experience God’s everlasting love.
In our baptism the resurrected Christ has called each of us by name, just as he called Mary Magadalene by name (and just as he called Eowyn by name last night when she was baptized.)
Beyond our baptism, we experience God’s everlasting love just by being alive – just by living on this beautiful planet, filled with breathtaking sights and amazing creatures – including alligators.
We experience God’s everlasting love in the love of our friends and family – those still with us here – and those whose presence we still feel in memory and more.
We experience God’s everlasting love when we come here and extend the sign of peace with one another – people we’ve known forever and people we’ve never met – people we like, and people maybe we’re not too crazy about.
We experience God’s everlasting love when we come here and gather around the table – all eating the same bread and drinking from the same cup.
We experience God’s everlasting love alive in us when we quietly visit the sick and the lonely – when we help someone with the rent or to fill up their gas tank – when we help the stranger even if we’re pretty sure we’re being scammed – when we pray for suffering people – when we pray for our enemies.
We experience God’s everlasting love alive in us when we forgive those who wrong us.
If we open our hearts, if we really pay attention, if we don’t try to hide, we also can experience God’s everlasting love.
Early on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene discovered that - no matter much we reject God or try to hide from God - God continues to reach out to us.
Mary Magdalene discovered that God continues to love us with an everlasting love – a love far more powerful than death itself.
On this Easter Day, the only question for us is how do we respond to God’s everlasting love?
Like so many do we reject God’s love? Do we try to hide from God’s love?
Or, like Mary Magdalene, do we receive the gift of God’s everlasting love in Jesus and then head out through those doors, head out into Gainesville, head out intothe world, proclaiming joyfully by word and deed, “I have seen the Lord”?
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Brave and Noble Warriors for Christ
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
April 23, 2011
The Great Vigil of Easter
The Baptism of Eowyn Verhaeren
Genesis 1:1-2:2
Genesis 7:1-5, 11-18; 8:6-18; 9:8-13
Exodus 14:10-15:1
Zephaniah 3:12-20
Romans 6:3-11
Matthew 28:1-10
Brave and Noble Warriors for Christ
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!
The story of God and humanity is a story of God reaching out to us – a story of God reaching out to us over and over again.
At the start of tonight’s service we heard some examples of God reaching out to us – some stories of God’s saving deeds in history - some stories of our salvation.
We began with the story of creation – the story of God pouring out bottomless love and unquenchable imagination to create this fragile and beautiful planet surrounded by the vast expanse of interstellar space. We heard the story of God’s creation of human beings – human beings made in the image and likeness of God.
We didn’t hear the story of human beings messing up that close relationship with God. We didn’t hear it because, well, it’s Easter and we’re trying to be upbeat. And we didn’t hear it because, really, we don’t need to hear it. We know only too well how often we mess up – how often we mess up our relationship with God, our relationship with one another, our relationship with all of creation.
Yet, the good news is that despite all that messing up, God doesn’t give up on us.
God continues to love us, to reach out to us.
And tonight we celebrate God’s ultimate reaching out to us in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.
In the life of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
We see a God who enters the world on the margins – born to a couple of nobodies in an out of the way place.
We see a God who is the God of the losers – the God of the poor in spirit, the mournful, the meek, the hungry and thirsty, the merciful and the persecuted.
We see a God who’s most easily found with the people hanging out tonight downtown in Bo Diddley Plaza or the people waiting on line for a meal at St. Francis House.
In the life of Jesus we see what God is really like.
And in the death of Jesus we see what God is really like.
In the death of Jesus, we see a God whose kingdom is a mortal threat to the political and religious authorities of the world.
In the death of Jesus we see a God who is willing to be weak, a God who is willing to be rejected by us, a God who is even willing to be killed by us.
In the death of Jesus, we see a God who forgives the worst we’ve ever done or could ever do.
In the death of Jesus we see what God is really like.
But, this is the night when we celebrate the resurrection.
In the resurrection of Jesus we see what God is really like.
In the resurrection of Jesus we see a God who never gives up on us. We see a God who will not allow sin and death to drive us apart.
In the resurrection of Jesus, we see a God who gives us a fresh start, a second chance.
In the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
And in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus we see what we are meant to be like – what we were always meant to be like.
In The Lord of the Rings, the character Eowyn is both beautiful and a brave and noble warrior.
And even if we’re not named Eowyn, that’s what we’re supposed to be like.
To love us so much, despite all our flaws, God must find us very beautiful.
And as Christians, we are meant to be brave and noble warriors for Christ, caring for those the world thinks of as the losers.
We are meant to be brave and noble warriors for Christ, united with the poor in spirit, the mournful, the meek, the hungry and thirsty, the merciful and the persecuted.
We are meant to be brave and noble warriors for Christ, challenging the political and religious authorities of the world – and facing the consequences of that challenge.
We are meant to persevere in resisting evil.
We are meant to proclaim by word and example the Good News.
We are meant to serve Christ in all persons
We are meant to strive for justice and peace among all people.
All of this seems nearly impossible. And it would be impossible to be a brave and noble warrior for Christ if we were on our own.
But, the joy of Easter is that we’re not on our own.
In the water of Baptism God makes an indissoluble bond – an unbreakable bond – with us, just as tonight in the water of baptism, God made an unbreakable bond with our own Eowyn.
As St. Paul explained to the church in Rome, in the water of baptism we die with Christ – and in the water of baptism we rise with Christ.
We messed up in the worst way imaginable by nailing Jesus to the cross.
Yet, God responds to our messing up by raising Jesus on the third day – by turning death into life.
So, Eowyn, no matter how many times you mess up, no matter how many mistakes you make, God will always love you and be with you.
And no matter how many times the rest of us mess up, nothing can ever separate us from the love of God.
The story of God and humanity is a story of God reaching out to us – reaching out to us over and over again.
And God’s ultimate reaching out to us is in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
In the life, death and resurrection of Jesus we see what God is really like.
And in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus we see what we are meant to be like.
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
April 23, 2011
The Great Vigil of Easter
The Baptism of Eowyn Verhaeren
Genesis 1:1-2:2
Genesis 7:1-5, 11-18; 8:6-18; 9:8-13
Exodus 14:10-15:1
Zephaniah 3:12-20
Romans 6:3-11
Matthew 28:1-10
Brave and Noble Warriors for Christ
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!
The story of God and humanity is a story of God reaching out to us – a story of God reaching out to us over and over again.
At the start of tonight’s service we heard some examples of God reaching out to us – some stories of God’s saving deeds in history - some stories of our salvation.
We began with the story of creation – the story of God pouring out bottomless love and unquenchable imagination to create this fragile and beautiful planet surrounded by the vast expanse of interstellar space. We heard the story of God’s creation of human beings – human beings made in the image and likeness of God.
We didn’t hear the story of human beings messing up that close relationship with God. We didn’t hear it because, well, it’s Easter and we’re trying to be upbeat. And we didn’t hear it because, really, we don’t need to hear it. We know only too well how often we mess up – how often we mess up our relationship with God, our relationship with one another, our relationship with all of creation.
Yet, the good news is that despite all that messing up, God doesn’t give up on us.
God continues to love us, to reach out to us.
And tonight we celebrate God’s ultimate reaching out to us in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.
In the life of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
We see a God who enters the world on the margins – born to a couple of nobodies in an out of the way place.
We see a God who is the God of the losers – the God of the poor in spirit, the mournful, the meek, the hungry and thirsty, the merciful and the persecuted.
We see a God who’s most easily found with the people hanging out tonight downtown in Bo Diddley Plaza or the people waiting on line for a meal at St. Francis House.
In the life of Jesus we see what God is really like.
And in the death of Jesus we see what God is really like.
In the death of Jesus, we see a God whose kingdom is a mortal threat to the political and religious authorities of the world.
In the death of Jesus we see a God who is willing to be weak, a God who is willing to be rejected by us, a God who is even willing to be killed by us.
In the death of Jesus, we see a God who forgives the worst we’ve ever done or could ever do.
In the death of Jesus we see what God is really like.
But, this is the night when we celebrate the resurrection.
In the resurrection of Jesus we see what God is really like.
In the resurrection of Jesus we see a God who never gives up on us. We see a God who will not allow sin and death to drive us apart.
In the resurrection of Jesus, we see a God who gives us a fresh start, a second chance.
In the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
And in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus we see what we are meant to be like – what we were always meant to be like.
In The Lord of the Rings, the character Eowyn is both beautiful and a brave and noble warrior.
And even if we’re not named Eowyn, that’s what we’re supposed to be like.
To love us so much, despite all our flaws, God must find us very beautiful.
And as Christians, we are meant to be brave and noble warriors for Christ, caring for those the world thinks of as the losers.
We are meant to be brave and noble warriors for Christ, united with the poor in spirit, the mournful, the meek, the hungry and thirsty, the merciful and the persecuted.
We are meant to be brave and noble warriors for Christ, challenging the political and religious authorities of the world – and facing the consequences of that challenge.
We are meant to persevere in resisting evil.
We are meant to proclaim by word and example the Good News.
We are meant to serve Christ in all persons
We are meant to strive for justice and peace among all people.
All of this seems nearly impossible. And it would be impossible to be a brave and noble warrior for Christ if we were on our own.
But, the joy of Easter is that we’re not on our own.
In the water of Baptism God makes an indissoluble bond – an unbreakable bond – with us, just as tonight in the water of baptism, God made an unbreakable bond with our own Eowyn.
As St. Paul explained to the church in Rome, in the water of baptism we die with Christ – and in the water of baptism we rise with Christ.
We messed up in the worst way imaginable by nailing Jesus to the cross.
Yet, God responds to our messing up by raising Jesus on the third day – by turning death into life.
So, Eowyn, no matter how many times you mess up, no matter how many mistakes you make, God will always love you and be with you.
And no matter how many times the rest of us mess up, nothing can ever separate us from the love of God.
The story of God and humanity is a story of God reaching out to us – reaching out to us over and over again.
And God’s ultimate reaching out to us is in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
In the life, death and resurrection of Jesus we see what God is really like.
And in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus we see what we are meant to be like.
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Friday, April 22, 2011
Good Earth
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
April 21, 2012
Good Friday
Isaiah 52:13-53:12
Psalm 22
Hebrews 10:16-25
John 18:1-19:42
Good Earth
Whenever people die, it’s perfectly normal to reflect on the meaning of their lives.
Sometimes, especially if a person has lived a long, full, loving life, we give thanks for a life well lived and quietly hope the same for us.
And sometimes, if a person dies young or tragically, we wonder why, we mourn the lost promise – and quietly whisper the cliché, “There but for the grace of God go I.”
Reflection about the meaning of the life and death of Jesus probably began when his lifeless body still hung on the cross.
His mother and the other women and the Beloved Disciple standing at the foot of the cross, probably barely able to look through their tears at Jesus’ battered body, must have struggled to make sense of what had happened to this man – son, friend, rabbi.
And I imagine the disciples - wherever they were hiding - must have also begun reflecting on Jesus, reflecting on the meaning of his life, reflecting on the meaning of their time together. And, maybe they also reflected with shame on their own cowardly abandonment of their teacher and friend, the one who had so recently broken bread with them, the one who had just washed their feet.
We know of course what’s going to happen next. Unlike the women at the foot of the cross and the other disciples we’re already planning and anticipating the celebrations that will take place tomorrow night and Sunday morning.
Of course, the resurrection didn’t stop people from reflecting on the meaning of Jesus’ life and death – just the opposite, really.
Among Christians in the early centuries there was a lot of reflection about Jesus’ nature. Who and what was Jesus?
Some people had a hard time accepting that Jesus was a human being just like us. Instead, some people argued that, like a character out of mythology, Jesus was a divine being who was only pretending to be a human being.
People who believed Jesus was just pretending to be a human being could and did point to how Jesus is usually depicted in the Gospel of John. More than the other gospels, John nearly always presents Jesus as being very much in control, very confident about his identity, and very certain of his mission.
In the Gospel of John, Jesus often seems more divine than human. Usually Jesus doesn’t seem to share the doubts and fears that you and I have in abundance.
From the cosmic opening verses of his Gospel, John makes the point that the Word of God has come and lived among us in Jesus of Nazareth - Jesus who lived right here on this same beautiful and fragile planet where today you and I go about our lives.
As we just heard in the reading of the Passion, the great tragedy is that people not so different from us rejected God’s presence and nailed the Word of God to a piece of wood.
Two thousand years ago it was the Jewish religious authorities and the Roman political authorities who killed Jesus. But, I suspect the abandonment by his friends hurt Jesus more than the nails that pierced his wrists.
And, let’s face it, few if any of us, would have done better than the cowardly disciples or the people in the crowd calling for Jesus’ death.
John is the most spiritual of the gospels, but even John presents the stark fact that Jesus’ body was a vulnerable human body – just like our bodies.
Jesus’ body was a body born of a woman – and so Mary endures the agony of watching her son die an excruciating death.
Jesus’ body was a vulnerable human body – a body that was easily flogged by physically stronger men.
John tells us that Jesus’ face – a real face just like ours - was struck.
John tells us that a mocking crown of thorns was placed on Jesus’ head and a mocking purple robe draped over his battered body.
John tells us that Jesus was thirsty – just as our own mouths get parched.
None of this was happening on a mysterious spiritual plane, but right here on planet earth. Flesh and blood human beings brutalized another flesh and blood human being - an old, old story.
But, as the first Christians reflected on the life and death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth, they came to a mind-blowing conclusion. As the first Christians continued to experience Jesus’ presence in Scripture, in the bread and the wine, in one another, in their hears, they came to a mid-blowing conclusion.
They came to the mind-blowing conclusion that in a unique and unexpected way, God entered our flesh and blood world in this particular human being – this particular human being who was battered and killed by those temporarily more powerful than he.
When we look at Jesus we see what God is really like.
And, then, despite that horrible rejection – God still didn’t – and still doesn’t give up on us.
Why?
The only possible answer is love.
God loves us - not in some abstract way – God doesn’t just love the idea of us – God loves flesh and blood us.
God loves the good creation – loves this beautiful and fragile planet where Jesus walked among us and where today you and I go about our lives.
And so, because God loves us and loves creation, God reveals God’s Self to us in Jesus of Nazareth.
God reveals God’s Self in Jesus who taught about the kingdom of God; Jesus who gave sight to the sightless; Jesus who gave new life to those thought to be dead forever.
We look at Jesus and see what God is really like.
And because Jesus is a flesh and blood human being – we look at Jesus and see what we are meant to be – what we were always meant to be.
We look at Jesus and see that we are meant to give of ourselves in loving service to one another.
We look at Jesus and see that we are meant to love the good creation just as God loves the good creation.
Reflection about the meaning of the life and death of Jesus probably began when his lifeless body still hung on the cross.
And the fruit of that reflection is that when we look at Jesus, we see what God is really like.
And when we look at Jesus, we see what we are meant to be like.
Amen.
April 21, 2012
Good Friday
Isaiah 52:13-53:12
Psalm 22
Hebrews 10:16-25
John 18:1-19:42
Good Earth
Whenever people die, it’s perfectly normal to reflect on the meaning of their lives.
Sometimes, especially if a person has lived a long, full, loving life, we give thanks for a life well lived and quietly hope the same for us.
And sometimes, if a person dies young or tragically, we wonder why, we mourn the lost promise – and quietly whisper the cliché, “There but for the grace of God go I.”
Reflection about the meaning of the life and death of Jesus probably began when his lifeless body still hung on the cross.
His mother and the other women and the Beloved Disciple standing at the foot of the cross, probably barely able to look through their tears at Jesus’ battered body, must have struggled to make sense of what had happened to this man – son, friend, rabbi.
And I imagine the disciples - wherever they were hiding - must have also begun reflecting on Jesus, reflecting on the meaning of his life, reflecting on the meaning of their time together. And, maybe they also reflected with shame on their own cowardly abandonment of their teacher and friend, the one who had so recently broken bread with them, the one who had just washed their feet.
We know of course what’s going to happen next. Unlike the women at the foot of the cross and the other disciples we’re already planning and anticipating the celebrations that will take place tomorrow night and Sunday morning.
Of course, the resurrection didn’t stop people from reflecting on the meaning of Jesus’ life and death – just the opposite, really.
Among Christians in the early centuries there was a lot of reflection about Jesus’ nature. Who and what was Jesus?
Some people had a hard time accepting that Jesus was a human being just like us. Instead, some people argued that, like a character out of mythology, Jesus was a divine being who was only pretending to be a human being.
People who believed Jesus was just pretending to be a human being could and did point to how Jesus is usually depicted in the Gospel of John. More than the other gospels, John nearly always presents Jesus as being very much in control, very confident about his identity, and very certain of his mission.
In the Gospel of John, Jesus often seems more divine than human. Usually Jesus doesn’t seem to share the doubts and fears that you and I have in abundance.
From the cosmic opening verses of his Gospel, John makes the point that the Word of God has come and lived among us in Jesus of Nazareth - Jesus who lived right here on this same beautiful and fragile planet where today you and I go about our lives.
As we just heard in the reading of the Passion, the great tragedy is that people not so different from us rejected God’s presence and nailed the Word of God to a piece of wood.
Two thousand years ago it was the Jewish religious authorities and the Roman political authorities who killed Jesus. But, I suspect the abandonment by his friends hurt Jesus more than the nails that pierced his wrists.
And, let’s face it, few if any of us, would have done better than the cowardly disciples or the people in the crowd calling for Jesus’ death.
John is the most spiritual of the gospels, but even John presents the stark fact that Jesus’ body was a vulnerable human body – just like our bodies.
Jesus’ body was a body born of a woman – and so Mary endures the agony of watching her son die an excruciating death.
Jesus’ body was a vulnerable human body – a body that was easily flogged by physically stronger men.
John tells us that Jesus’ face – a real face just like ours - was struck.
John tells us that a mocking crown of thorns was placed on Jesus’ head and a mocking purple robe draped over his battered body.
John tells us that Jesus was thirsty – just as our own mouths get parched.
None of this was happening on a mysterious spiritual plane, but right here on planet earth. Flesh and blood human beings brutalized another flesh and blood human being - an old, old story.
But, as the first Christians reflected on the life and death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth, they came to a mind-blowing conclusion. As the first Christians continued to experience Jesus’ presence in Scripture, in the bread and the wine, in one another, in their hears, they came to a mid-blowing conclusion.
They came to the mind-blowing conclusion that in a unique and unexpected way, God entered our flesh and blood world in this particular human being – this particular human being who was battered and killed by those temporarily more powerful than he.
When we look at Jesus we see what God is really like.
And, then, despite that horrible rejection – God still didn’t – and still doesn’t give up on us.
Why?
The only possible answer is love.
God loves us - not in some abstract way – God doesn’t just love the idea of us – God loves flesh and blood us.
God loves the good creation – loves this beautiful and fragile planet where Jesus walked among us and where today you and I go about our lives.
And so, because God loves us and loves creation, God reveals God’s Self to us in Jesus of Nazareth.
God reveals God’s Self in Jesus who taught about the kingdom of God; Jesus who gave sight to the sightless; Jesus who gave new life to those thought to be dead forever.
We look at Jesus and see what God is really like.
And because Jesus is a flesh and blood human being – we look at Jesus and see what we are meant to be – what we were always meant to be.
We look at Jesus and see that we are meant to give of ourselves in loving service to one another.
We look at Jesus and see that we are meant to love the good creation just as God loves the good creation.
Reflection about the meaning of the life and death of Jesus probably began when his lifeless body still hung on the cross.
And the fruit of that reflection is that when we look at Jesus, we see what God is really like.
And when we look at Jesus, we see what we are meant to be like.
Amen.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Participants
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
April 21, 2011
Maundy Thursday
Exodus 12:1-4, (5-10), 11-14
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
Psalm 116:1, 10-17
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
Participants
I’m sure many of you are aware that this year marks the 150th anniversary of the start of the Civil War. Last week there were commemorations of the first shots of the war – the first shots fired by the Confederate forces on Fort Sumter, barely visible in the predawn gloom of Charleston Harbor.
Large numbers of Civil War re-enactors with their obsessive attention to every detail, down to making sure they have the right kind of laces in their boots and the right blend of coffee in their cups, converged on Charleston and recreated the beginnings of our bloodiest war - as history buffs, tourists and the merely curious looked on.
I can understand the appeal of historical reenactments like this. And I can understand why people want to be re-enactors. There’s a genuine appeal to immersing yourself in the past, becoming expert in a particular time and place, a particular group of people. I’m sure it’s fun, interesting, and educational.
But, though it may seem like it, we are not here tonight for a historical reenactment.
Yes, like those people in Charleston, tonight we are remembering an event that took place in the past. We are remembering an event that took place in a room in Jerusalem on or near the Passover, nearly two thousand years ago.
Jesus and his closest friends and disciples went to Jerusalem for the great Passover feast. Throughout his ministry, Jesus had warned his followers what was going to happen to him. Most of the time they seem to have not understood – or maybe they just didn’t want to understand.
But now in this room at Passover, even the dimmest and most stubborn of Jesus’ followers must have understood that the unthinkable was happening - Jesus’ life was going to end. Jesus’ life was going to end in an especially dismaying, shocking, horrific way.
After Jesus’ death and resurrection, the disciples must have spent a lot of time remembering and reflecting on all that they had experienced with their teacher. And this last meal remained an especially vivid memory for the rest of their lives. They must have told the story of this last meal over and over.
In fact, I think it’s safe to say that what we call the Last Supper is the most memorable and most remembered meal of all time.
In the brief passage from his first letter to the Corinthians, written twenty or so years later the events of that Passover, St. Paul gives us the earliest account of the Last Supper and the way the first Christians remembered it and experienced it– and have continued to remember it and experience it right down to today.
All four gospels tell the story of Jesus’ last meal with his friends, though the descriptions differ a bit.
Each year on Maundy Thursday we hear the account of the Last Supper in the Gospel of John. The Gospel of John was the last of the four gospels to be written so -no surprise - John’s account of the Last Supper is by far the longest of the four.
But, what is surprising is that in his long description of the Last Supper, John makes no mention of Jesus instituting the Eucharist. There’s no mention of Jesus blessing and sharing the bread and wine and instructing his followers to do the same in his memory.
Instead, only John paints the remarkable picture of Jesus the Son of God washing the feet of his friends.
In Jesus’ remarkable act of humility, we see what God is really like. We see a God who loves us beyond our imagination. We see a God who pours out grace on us – pours out grace to serve us, to strengthen us, to purify us.
In Jesus we see what God is really like.
And in Jesus we see what we are meant to be like.
Jesus tells his followers, commands his followers, “For I have set you an example, that you should do as I have done to you.”
And so over and over we gather around the Lord’s Table, hearing the words of Jesus echo down through the centuries, echo through and beyond time and space, “This is my body. This is my blood.”
And on Maundy Thursday we have a ritual foot-washing.
At the first foot-washing, once he realized how important it was, Peter exclaimed, to Jesus, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and head!” That sounds like Baptism to me. And, so from time to time, we gather around the font – as we’ll do here on Saturday night - joyfully pouring water and welcoming a new member of the Christian community.
But, aside from me, we don’t do these things in period costume as if we were historical re-enactors.
We don’t dress up as if we were at a biblical theme park. We come to the table just as we are - wearing our normal clothes – ordinary 21st Century clothes – because we are not re-enactors.
Those re-enactors in Charleston last week weren’t really firing the first shots of the Civil War.
But, when you and I come to the table with our hands and hearts outstretched, we are in a mystical but very real way gathered around Jesus at the Last Supper. We really are united with the first disciples and with Christians through the centuries.
We’re not re-enactors, we’re participants.
And when I symbolically wash the feet of a few of our parishioners, at first glance it may look like a historical reenactment. But, notice they’re not dressed in period costume.
The foot-washing is meant to remind us of what Jesus did for his followers – people just like us. The foot-washing is meant to remind us that Jesus calls us – commands us – to be like him – to live lives of loving service to others.
And so when we quietly visit the sick and the lonely – when we help someone with the rent or to fill up their gas tank – when we help the stranger even if we’re pretty sure we’re being scammed – when we pray for the suffering – when we pray for our enemies - then we’re not re-enactors.
We’re not re-enactors.
We’re participants.
In our own time and place, right here in Gainesville, we’re participants in the life of Christ – a life like bread that is broken to feed the multitudes – a life like wine poured out to quench the thirsty – a life like water washing away grime – a life of loving and humble and sacrificial service.
In Jesus we see what God is really like.
And in Jesus we see what we are meant to be like.
Amen.
April 21, 2011
Maundy Thursday
Exodus 12:1-4, (5-10), 11-14
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
Psalm 116:1, 10-17
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
Participants
I’m sure many of you are aware that this year marks the 150th anniversary of the start of the Civil War. Last week there were commemorations of the first shots of the war – the first shots fired by the Confederate forces on Fort Sumter, barely visible in the predawn gloom of Charleston Harbor.
Large numbers of Civil War re-enactors with their obsessive attention to every detail, down to making sure they have the right kind of laces in their boots and the right blend of coffee in their cups, converged on Charleston and recreated the beginnings of our bloodiest war - as history buffs, tourists and the merely curious looked on.
I can understand the appeal of historical reenactments like this. And I can understand why people want to be re-enactors. There’s a genuine appeal to immersing yourself in the past, becoming expert in a particular time and place, a particular group of people. I’m sure it’s fun, interesting, and educational.
But, though it may seem like it, we are not here tonight for a historical reenactment.
Yes, like those people in Charleston, tonight we are remembering an event that took place in the past. We are remembering an event that took place in a room in Jerusalem on or near the Passover, nearly two thousand years ago.
Jesus and his closest friends and disciples went to Jerusalem for the great Passover feast. Throughout his ministry, Jesus had warned his followers what was going to happen to him. Most of the time they seem to have not understood – or maybe they just didn’t want to understand.
But now in this room at Passover, even the dimmest and most stubborn of Jesus’ followers must have understood that the unthinkable was happening - Jesus’ life was going to end. Jesus’ life was going to end in an especially dismaying, shocking, horrific way.
After Jesus’ death and resurrection, the disciples must have spent a lot of time remembering and reflecting on all that they had experienced with their teacher. And this last meal remained an especially vivid memory for the rest of their lives. They must have told the story of this last meal over and over.
In fact, I think it’s safe to say that what we call the Last Supper is the most memorable and most remembered meal of all time.
In the brief passage from his first letter to the Corinthians, written twenty or so years later the events of that Passover, St. Paul gives us the earliest account of the Last Supper and the way the first Christians remembered it and experienced it– and have continued to remember it and experience it right down to today.
All four gospels tell the story of Jesus’ last meal with his friends, though the descriptions differ a bit.
Each year on Maundy Thursday we hear the account of the Last Supper in the Gospel of John. The Gospel of John was the last of the four gospels to be written so -no surprise - John’s account of the Last Supper is by far the longest of the four.
But, what is surprising is that in his long description of the Last Supper, John makes no mention of Jesus instituting the Eucharist. There’s no mention of Jesus blessing and sharing the bread and wine and instructing his followers to do the same in his memory.
Instead, only John paints the remarkable picture of Jesus the Son of God washing the feet of his friends.
In Jesus’ remarkable act of humility, we see what God is really like. We see a God who loves us beyond our imagination. We see a God who pours out grace on us – pours out grace to serve us, to strengthen us, to purify us.
In Jesus we see what God is really like.
And in Jesus we see what we are meant to be like.
Jesus tells his followers, commands his followers, “For I have set you an example, that you should do as I have done to you.”
And so over and over we gather around the Lord’s Table, hearing the words of Jesus echo down through the centuries, echo through and beyond time and space, “This is my body. This is my blood.”
And on Maundy Thursday we have a ritual foot-washing.
At the first foot-washing, once he realized how important it was, Peter exclaimed, to Jesus, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and head!” That sounds like Baptism to me. And, so from time to time, we gather around the font – as we’ll do here on Saturday night - joyfully pouring water and welcoming a new member of the Christian community.
But, aside from me, we don’t do these things in period costume as if we were historical re-enactors.
We don’t dress up as if we were at a biblical theme park. We come to the table just as we are - wearing our normal clothes – ordinary 21st Century clothes – because we are not re-enactors.
Those re-enactors in Charleston last week weren’t really firing the first shots of the Civil War.
But, when you and I come to the table with our hands and hearts outstretched, we are in a mystical but very real way gathered around Jesus at the Last Supper. We really are united with the first disciples and with Christians through the centuries.
We’re not re-enactors, we’re participants.
And when I symbolically wash the feet of a few of our parishioners, at first glance it may look like a historical reenactment. But, notice they’re not dressed in period costume.
The foot-washing is meant to remind us of what Jesus did for his followers – people just like us. The foot-washing is meant to remind us that Jesus calls us – commands us – to be like him – to live lives of loving service to others.
And so when we quietly visit the sick and the lonely – when we help someone with the rent or to fill up their gas tank – when we help the stranger even if we’re pretty sure we’re being scammed – when we pray for the suffering – when we pray for our enemies - then we’re not re-enactors.
We’re not re-enactors.
We’re participants.
In our own time and place, right here in Gainesville, we’re participants in the life of Christ – a life like bread that is broken to feed the multitudes – a life like wine poured out to quench the thirsty – a life like water washing away grime – a life of loving and humble and sacrificial service.
In Jesus we see what God is really like.
And in Jesus we see what we are meant to be like.
Amen.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
What God Is Really Like
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
April 17, 2011
Year A: The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday
Matthew 21:1-11
Isaiah 45:21-25
Psalm 22:1-11
Philippians 2:5-11
Matthew 26:36-27:66
What God Is Really Like
We are told that the moment Jesus died on the cross, the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.
That curtain – a large tapestry - hung in front of the Holy of Holies – the innermost part of the Temple where in a sense God was believed to dwell. The tearing of the curtain when Jesus dies symbolizes that now God is no longer hidden from view.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
We see a God who enters the world on the margins – in out of the way places like Bethlehem, born to a couple of nobodies, surrounded by shepherds and farm animals.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
In the life and death of Jesus we see God at work transforming this broken, messed up world into a kingdom – a downside-up kingdom in which blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are those who mourn, blessed are the meek, blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, blessed are the merciful, blessed are the pure in heart, blessed are the peacemakers, blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, and blessed are those persecuted on Jesus’ account.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like – building a kingdom for those the world thinks of as the losers.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see God’s power quenching thirst. We see God’s power giving sight to the sightless. In the life and death of Jesus, we see God’s power giving new life to those thought to be dead.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
And at the start of today’s service, we heard how at least some people greeted Jesus – how at least some people welcomed God into their midst – with a parade, with songs, with hope and joy.
Jesus’ parade is a parody of political and military parades. Jesus doesn’t enter the capital city riding a magnificent stallion the way a triumphant king or warrior would. There’s no army in uniform - just a ragtag group of supporters welcoming their unlikely king with branches and acclamations of “Hosanna!”
Maybe more even than Jesus’ own followers, the political and religious leaders saw the immense power behind Jesus’ humility and simplicity. The political and religious leaders recognized that this unusual parade was a glimpse of a kingdom in which they aren’t in charge – the kingdom in which it’s the losers of the world who are blessed.
The political and religious leaders saw very well the threat posed by this revolutionary rabbi from Nazareth – and so, helped by own of his own, they moved quickly against Jesus.
Matthew downplays the responsibility of Pilate and the Romans and places more blame on the Jewish religious leaders and the crowd that chose the bandit Barabbas rather than Jesus of Nazareth.
In truth, there’s plenty of blame to go around.
In the life and death of Jesus we see what God is really like. We see a God who is rejected over and over – rejected at the start of creation in the garden; rejected by the leaders and the crowds in Jerusalem two thousand years ago; rejected by us more often than we’d ever want to admit.
While there’s plenty of blame to go around, in this case it’s the Romans who do the deed. Crucifixion was a common and particularly brutal form of Roman punishment, reserved for non-citizens who were viewed as threats to the empire. It was a punishment reserved for the losers.
The victims were literally and figuratively stripped of their dignity.
For Jews, a crucified person was ritually unclean, an untouchable.
Many people mistakenly think that the crucified bled to death from their wounds. The truth is worse. In most cases they became gradually too weak to breathe and eventually suffocated – often after hanging on the cross for days.
Jesus himself died relatively quickly, perhaps a sign that the Son of God was already physically weak even before this ordeal began.
Matthew tells us that, not long before he died, Jesus cried out from the cross, quoting from the start of Psalm 22, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
In that cry of anguish, Jesus is united once and for all with the all the broken people of the world – all the broken people who in the midst of great suffering still hope and trust in God.
In that cry of anguish, Jesus is united once and for all with the losers who will be – who are – blessed in the kingdom of God.
When Jesus took his last agonizing breath the curtain in the Temple was torn in two. God is no longer hidden from us.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
In Jesus, born in an out of the way place to a couple of nobodies, we see what God is really like.
In Jesus, who taught about the downside-up kingdom of God, we see what God is really like.
In Jesus, who gave sight to the blind and new life to the dead, we see what God is really like.
In Jesus, who endured the pain, shame and abandonment of the cross, we see what God is really like.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
Amen.
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
April 17, 2011
Year A: The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday
Matthew 21:1-11
Isaiah 45:21-25
Psalm 22:1-11
Philippians 2:5-11
Matthew 26:36-27:66
What God Is Really Like
We are told that the moment Jesus died on the cross, the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.
That curtain – a large tapestry - hung in front of the Holy of Holies – the innermost part of the Temple where in a sense God was believed to dwell. The tearing of the curtain when Jesus dies symbolizes that now God is no longer hidden from view.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
We see a God who enters the world on the margins – in out of the way places like Bethlehem, born to a couple of nobodies, surrounded by shepherds and farm animals.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
In the life and death of Jesus we see God at work transforming this broken, messed up world into a kingdom – a downside-up kingdom in which blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are those who mourn, blessed are the meek, blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, blessed are the merciful, blessed are the pure in heart, blessed are the peacemakers, blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, and blessed are those persecuted on Jesus’ account.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like – building a kingdom for those the world thinks of as the losers.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see God’s power quenching thirst. We see God’s power giving sight to the sightless. In the life and death of Jesus, we see God’s power giving new life to those thought to be dead.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
And at the start of today’s service, we heard how at least some people greeted Jesus – how at least some people welcomed God into their midst – with a parade, with songs, with hope and joy.
Jesus’ parade is a parody of political and military parades. Jesus doesn’t enter the capital city riding a magnificent stallion the way a triumphant king or warrior would. There’s no army in uniform - just a ragtag group of supporters welcoming their unlikely king with branches and acclamations of “Hosanna!”
Maybe more even than Jesus’ own followers, the political and religious leaders saw the immense power behind Jesus’ humility and simplicity. The political and religious leaders recognized that this unusual parade was a glimpse of a kingdom in which they aren’t in charge – the kingdom in which it’s the losers of the world who are blessed.
The political and religious leaders saw very well the threat posed by this revolutionary rabbi from Nazareth – and so, helped by own of his own, they moved quickly against Jesus.
Matthew downplays the responsibility of Pilate and the Romans and places more blame on the Jewish religious leaders and the crowd that chose the bandit Barabbas rather than Jesus of Nazareth.
In truth, there’s plenty of blame to go around.
In the life and death of Jesus we see what God is really like. We see a God who is rejected over and over – rejected at the start of creation in the garden; rejected by the leaders and the crowds in Jerusalem two thousand years ago; rejected by us more often than we’d ever want to admit.
While there’s plenty of blame to go around, in this case it’s the Romans who do the deed. Crucifixion was a common and particularly brutal form of Roman punishment, reserved for non-citizens who were viewed as threats to the empire. It was a punishment reserved for the losers.
The victims were literally and figuratively stripped of their dignity.
For Jews, a crucified person was ritually unclean, an untouchable.
Many people mistakenly think that the crucified bled to death from their wounds. The truth is worse. In most cases they became gradually too weak to breathe and eventually suffocated – often after hanging on the cross for days.
Jesus himself died relatively quickly, perhaps a sign that the Son of God was already physically weak even before this ordeal began.
Matthew tells us that, not long before he died, Jesus cried out from the cross, quoting from the start of Psalm 22, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
In that cry of anguish, Jesus is united once and for all with the all the broken people of the world – all the broken people who in the midst of great suffering still hope and trust in God.
In that cry of anguish, Jesus is united once and for all with the losers who will be – who are – blessed in the kingdom of God.
When Jesus took his last agonizing breath the curtain in the Temple was torn in two. God is no longer hidden from us.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
In Jesus, born in an out of the way place to a couple of nobodies, we see what God is really like.
In Jesus, who taught about the downside-up kingdom of God, we see what God is really like.
In Jesus, who gave sight to the blind and new life to the dead, we see what God is really like.
In Jesus, who endured the pain, shame and abandonment of the cross, we see what God is really like.
In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.
Amen.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
The Agony of God
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
April 10, 2011
Year A: The Fifth Sunday in Lent
Ezekiel 37:1-14
Psalm 130
Romans 8:6-11
John 11:1-45
The Agony of God
Here in church over the past few Sundays in Lent we’ve been hearing very long excerpts from the Gospel of John.
As I’ve mentioned before, the Gospel of John is the last of the four gospels to have been written, probably some time around the end of the First Century, several generations after the earthly lifetime of Jesus.
In part because it’s a relatively late gospel, it’s also the most theologically sophisticated of the four gospels.
There has been more time for people to reflect on who Jesus was and is – more time to reflect on the meaning of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection.
We hear some of the fruit of that reflection in the grand and cosmic opening verses of the Gospel of John:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
“And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.”
Throughout the Gospel of John, Jesus is presented very much as the Word made flesh – as God’s Son in whom we see what God is really like.
Throughout the Gospel of John, Jesus is presented as more divine than human - very much in control, very certain of his mission and its eventual outcome.
Just like the other gospels, the Gospel of John describes powerful supernatural acts of Jesus. But in John these supernatural acts are not called miracles. In the Gospel of John the powerful acts of Jesus are called signs.
In the Gospel of John, Jesus performs signs to point to the truth – the truth about God, the truth about himself, the truth about us, and the truth about life and death.
For example, at the wedding at Cana Jesus turned water into wine not because it was something amazing to do, though, of course it was amazing. Jesus also doesn’t go around doing this all the time, though I’m sure it would have gotten him invited to a lot more parties! Jesus changed water into a wine as a sign pointing to the truth that it’s in Jesus that we find overflowing abundance.
Another example: the man born blind we heard about last week was given sight not because it was something amazing – and merciful - to do, though of course it was amazing and merciful. And Jesus doesn’t go around giving sight to every blind person he met. Jesus gave the man sight as a sign pointing to the truth that it’s in Jesus that we really see the power and love of God.
And today, we heard the story Jesus’ greatest sign – the raising of his beloved friend Lazarus from the dead.
Again, Jesus doesn’t travel around to every funeral in the area raising the deceased back to life.
The entire sequence of events in the Lazarus story is designed so that in this sign Jesus can point to and reveal the glory of God.
So, Jesus waits two extra days after receiving word that his friend Lazarus was ill.
Jesus misses out on the funeral. Jesus wasn’t there to console Mary and Martha.
When Jesus arrives Lazarus has been dead for four days.
There was a belief in Judaism that the spirit hovered near the body for three days after death. So, when Jesus arrives on the fourth day, there can be no doubt that resuscitation is impossible: All hope is lost. Lazarus is dead – really dead.
Now the stage is set for Jesus’ greatest sign. John is about to tell the story of how Jesus – how the Word of God made flesh living among us – reveals that death is no match for the power of God.
But first, looking at Mary and the others mourning Lazarus, surrounded by their grief, Jesus seems to be overcome with emotion.
John tells us that Jesus was “greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.” The word translated as “deeply moved” is more accurately translated as “angered.”
And then, Jesus, the Word of God, cries.
Now, if we were talking about anyone else, this reaction would be no surprise. Anger and sadness at the death of a friend is perfectly normal human behavior, of course.
But, John nearly always presents Jesus the Word of God as being supremely confident and in control – so he must have had an important reason to include the details of Jesus seeming to lose control. John must have had an important reason to include the details of Jesus angry and weeping.
In his anger and in his tears Jesus is most fully human.
And in his anger and in his tears Jesus is also most fully divine.
John seems to be making the point that in the anger and tears of Jesus we see that, just like us, God is angered by the power of suffering, grief and death.
In the anger and tears of Jesus we see that, just like us, God is saddened by our suffering, grief and death.
In the anger and the tears of Jesus we see the agony of God – the agony of God who loves us.
In the anger and tears of Jesus we see the agony of God – the agony of God who loves us and who suffers along with us.
The agony of God leads God to act.
It’s because of the agony of God that the Word became flesh and lived among us.
It’s because of the agony of God that Lazarus was raised from the dead. It’s because of the agony of God that we are given this powerful sign of God’s triumph over death.
Jesus cries with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”
And love defeats death.
Of course, the story doesn’t end there. In his book What Jesus Meant, Garry Wills writes, “Jesus embraced his own death when he gave life to Lazarus.”
In the Gospel of John, when Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead he sets in motion a chain of events leading to his arrest and execution. This awesome and unprecedented act of power and love convinces the powers that be that Jesus is just too dangerous to live.
And so on Good Friday we will see even more clearly the agony of God.
On Good Friday we will see the agony of God who came and lived among us and was rejected by people just like us.
On Good Friday we will see the agony of God whose offer of love was rejected with nails and a crown of thorns.
But, the good news is that, despite even this painful rejection, God doesn’t give up on us. God doesn’t leave us in our sin, suffering and grief.
The agony of God leads God to act.
The agony of God leads to the best news for us for all time.
The agony of God leads to Easter morning, when love defeats death once and for all.
Thanks be to God.
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
April 10, 2011
Year A: The Fifth Sunday in Lent
Ezekiel 37:1-14
Psalm 130
Romans 8:6-11
John 11:1-45
The Agony of God
Here in church over the past few Sundays in Lent we’ve been hearing very long excerpts from the Gospel of John.
As I’ve mentioned before, the Gospel of John is the last of the four gospels to have been written, probably some time around the end of the First Century, several generations after the earthly lifetime of Jesus.
In part because it’s a relatively late gospel, it’s also the most theologically sophisticated of the four gospels.
There has been more time for people to reflect on who Jesus was and is – more time to reflect on the meaning of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection.
We hear some of the fruit of that reflection in the grand and cosmic opening verses of the Gospel of John:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
“And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.”
Throughout the Gospel of John, Jesus is presented very much as the Word made flesh – as God’s Son in whom we see what God is really like.
Throughout the Gospel of John, Jesus is presented as more divine than human - very much in control, very certain of his mission and its eventual outcome.
Just like the other gospels, the Gospel of John describes powerful supernatural acts of Jesus. But in John these supernatural acts are not called miracles. In the Gospel of John the powerful acts of Jesus are called signs.
In the Gospel of John, Jesus performs signs to point to the truth – the truth about God, the truth about himself, the truth about us, and the truth about life and death.
For example, at the wedding at Cana Jesus turned water into wine not because it was something amazing to do, though, of course it was amazing. Jesus also doesn’t go around doing this all the time, though I’m sure it would have gotten him invited to a lot more parties! Jesus changed water into a wine as a sign pointing to the truth that it’s in Jesus that we find overflowing abundance.
Another example: the man born blind we heard about last week was given sight not because it was something amazing – and merciful - to do, though of course it was amazing and merciful. And Jesus doesn’t go around giving sight to every blind person he met. Jesus gave the man sight as a sign pointing to the truth that it’s in Jesus that we really see the power and love of God.
And today, we heard the story Jesus’ greatest sign – the raising of his beloved friend Lazarus from the dead.
Again, Jesus doesn’t travel around to every funeral in the area raising the deceased back to life.
The entire sequence of events in the Lazarus story is designed so that in this sign Jesus can point to and reveal the glory of God.
So, Jesus waits two extra days after receiving word that his friend Lazarus was ill.
Jesus misses out on the funeral. Jesus wasn’t there to console Mary and Martha.
When Jesus arrives Lazarus has been dead for four days.
There was a belief in Judaism that the spirit hovered near the body for three days after death. So, when Jesus arrives on the fourth day, there can be no doubt that resuscitation is impossible: All hope is lost. Lazarus is dead – really dead.
Now the stage is set for Jesus’ greatest sign. John is about to tell the story of how Jesus – how the Word of God made flesh living among us – reveals that death is no match for the power of God.
But first, looking at Mary and the others mourning Lazarus, surrounded by their grief, Jesus seems to be overcome with emotion.
John tells us that Jesus was “greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.” The word translated as “deeply moved” is more accurately translated as “angered.”
And then, Jesus, the Word of God, cries.
Now, if we were talking about anyone else, this reaction would be no surprise. Anger and sadness at the death of a friend is perfectly normal human behavior, of course.
But, John nearly always presents Jesus the Word of God as being supremely confident and in control – so he must have had an important reason to include the details of Jesus seeming to lose control. John must have had an important reason to include the details of Jesus angry and weeping.
In his anger and in his tears Jesus is most fully human.
And in his anger and in his tears Jesus is also most fully divine.
John seems to be making the point that in the anger and tears of Jesus we see that, just like us, God is angered by the power of suffering, grief and death.
In the anger and tears of Jesus we see that, just like us, God is saddened by our suffering, grief and death.
In the anger and the tears of Jesus we see the agony of God – the agony of God who loves us.
In the anger and tears of Jesus we see the agony of God – the agony of God who loves us and who suffers along with us.
The agony of God leads God to act.
It’s because of the agony of God that the Word became flesh and lived among us.
It’s because of the agony of God that Lazarus was raised from the dead. It’s because of the agony of God that we are given this powerful sign of God’s triumph over death.
Jesus cries with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”
And love defeats death.
Of course, the story doesn’t end there. In his book What Jesus Meant, Garry Wills writes, “Jesus embraced his own death when he gave life to Lazarus.”
In the Gospel of John, when Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead he sets in motion a chain of events leading to his arrest and execution. This awesome and unprecedented act of power and love convinces the powers that be that Jesus is just too dangerous to live.
And so on Good Friday we will see even more clearly the agony of God.
On Good Friday we will see the agony of God who came and lived among us and was rejected by people just like us.
On Good Friday we will see the agony of God whose offer of love was rejected with nails and a crown of thorns.
But, the good news is that, despite even this painful rejection, God doesn’t give up on us. God doesn’t leave us in our sin, suffering and grief.
The agony of God leads God to act.
The agony of God leads to the best news for us for all time.
The agony of God leads to Easter morning, when love defeats death once and for all.
Thanks be to God.
Sunday, April 03, 2011
Give Glory to God!
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
April 3, 2011
Year A: The Fourth Sunday in Lent
1 Samuel 16:1-13
Psalm 23
Ephesians 5:8-14
John 9:1-41
Give Glory to God!
Well, another Sunday brings another very long reading from the Gospel of John.
As I mentioned last week, most scholars consider the Gospel of John to be the last of the four gospels to have been written – probably sometime around the end of the First Century – several generations after the earthly lifetime of Jesus.
That late date means that this gospel is the product of divine inspiration working through several generations of Christians as they reflected on the meaning of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.
The Gospel of John is also the product of an early Christian community in crisis.
The Temple in Jerusalem had been destroyed by the Romans in the year 70. Jews had considered the Temple to be the holiest place on earth – in a sense God’s dwelling place - so its destruction was a extremely traumatic experience.
The Temple’s destruction led Jews to reassess and restructure their faith. Judaism had been amazingly diverse – in fact, there were many different Judaisms, many different ways of being a Jew. But now the Temple’s destruction led Jews to think carefully about what exactly it meant to be a Jew.
By the end of the First Century many Jewish religious leaders had real doubts about whether the Jewish followers of Jesus – the people who claimed Jesus was the long-awaited messiah, the people who believed Jesus was the Son of God who had risen from the dead, the people who gathered each week for the Lord’s Supper - were in fact still part of the Jewish community.
So, the Gospel of John was written at a time when Jewish followers of Jesus faced an excruciating choice. Do they continue to follow Jesus and cut themselves off from the community – the nation – the people - of their ancestors? Or, do they remain part of the synagogue and turn their back on Jesus and his followers?
When we hear passages from the Gospel of John like the one I just read, on one level we are hearing a story of how different people responded to a powerful sign performed by Jesus – giving sight to a man blind from birth.
But, on another level, we are hearing a story about the crisis faced by a Christian community decades later. The people referred to as “the Jews” are really the Jewish religious authorities. The people referred to as “the Jews” are the Jewish religious authorities who challenged the followers of Jesus to take the risk of their lives, to break from the past and head into an uncertain future.
Over time, the Church forgot some of this history – forgot that everyone in this and other stories was Jewish – including Jesus. The negative depiction of “the Jews” in Christian scripture, especially in the Gospel of John, served as a tragic foundation for the horrors of Christian anti-Semitism.
All that I’ve said so far is a – hopefully – interesting history lesson. But it’s much more than history. As Christians, you and I face the same kind of choice as the man born blind, the man’s parents, the religious authorities and those early Jewish followers of Jesus living near the end of the First Century.
How do we respond to what we’ve seen – what we continue to see?
The man’s parents pass the buck. Talk to our son – we don’t want to get involved.
The religious leaders stubbornly and arrogantly think they’re the only ones who can really see - and so they miss out on seeing God at work.
And how does the man born blind respond to his extraordinary gift?
The Pharisees said to him, “Give glory to God!” In this context, “Give glory to God!” is a legal command to testify. The Pharisees command the man born blind to testify to what he has experienced, to testify to the gift he has been given, to testify to what he has seen.
Give Glory to God!
And, as best he can, that’s exactly what he does. Although his physical sight was restored after he washed in the pool of Siloam, it takes time to for his spiritual sight to clear.
First, he doesn’t know where Jesus is.
Then, he declares that Jesus is a prophet.
And finally he recognizes Jesus as the Son of Man.
But, although it takes time for his spiritual sight to clear, all along the man born blind testifies as best he can to what he has experienced, testifies to the gift he has been given, testifies to what he has seen.
In our own lives, you and I have probably never experienced something quite as dramatic as what happened to the man born blind. But, then again, maybe we have. When we stop and think about it, we see that we have received extraordinary gifts from God.
We’ve received the gift of life itself. We exist – which in itself is pretty amazing. We all receive the simple pleasures of life on this beautiful planet - feeling the warmth of the sun on our faces, hearing the birds chirping in the morning, enjoying the taste of food and the refreshment of cold water.
And most of us have received the gift of Baptism – the water in which God makes an indissoluble, an unbreakable bond with us.
In the water of Baptism God shows us the bottomless depths of love.
And day after day, Sunday after Sunday, we receive the gift of being part of the Church. For all the church’s failings and faults, it’s here that we experience God’s love in a community like no other. It’s here that we experience God’s love with people we might not otherwise ever meet or might not otherwise even want to meet. It’s here that we experience God’s love through God’s Word, through the Body and Blood of Christ, through the simple exchange of peace, through our fellowship and care for one another.
No doubt the distractions, burdens, disappointments and fears of life can cloud our spiritual vision. Like the man born blind, it takes time – maybe a lifetime – for our spiritual vision to clear.
Yet, although his spiritual vision was still not clear, the man born blind gave glory to God. The man born blind testified to what he had experienced, testified to the gift he had been given, testified to what he had seen.
How about us? are we willing to give glory to God by testifying to what we have experienced, by testifying to the gifts we have been given, by testifying to what we have seen?
We testify by the way we live our lives out there in the world.
We testify by living lives and by having values that are very different from the values out there in the world.
And, sometimes, like the man born blind we testify through our words. Like the man born blind, each in our own way, we tell people out there in the world, “One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.”
The story of Jesus giving sight to the man born blind operates on several levels.
On one level, it’s a story about how everyone responds in very different ways to what they have seen.
On another level, it’s a story about the Jewish Christian community around the end of the First Century facing the excruciating choice between the faith of their mothers and fathers or stepping out into an uncertain future as followers of Jesus.
And now here today you and I face our own decision. Although our spiritual vision may not be completely clear, how do we respond to the gifts we have received?
How do we respond to what we have seen – what we continue to see – all around us?
Like the man’s parents, do we pass the buck?
Like the Pharisees, do we stubbornly and arrogantly refuse to see?
Or, like the man born blind, do we testify?
Do we give glory to God?
Amen.
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
April 3, 2011
Year A: The Fourth Sunday in Lent
1 Samuel 16:1-13
Psalm 23
Ephesians 5:8-14
John 9:1-41
Give Glory to God!
Well, another Sunday brings another very long reading from the Gospel of John.
As I mentioned last week, most scholars consider the Gospel of John to be the last of the four gospels to have been written – probably sometime around the end of the First Century – several generations after the earthly lifetime of Jesus.
That late date means that this gospel is the product of divine inspiration working through several generations of Christians as they reflected on the meaning of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.
The Gospel of John is also the product of an early Christian community in crisis.
The Temple in Jerusalem had been destroyed by the Romans in the year 70. Jews had considered the Temple to be the holiest place on earth – in a sense God’s dwelling place - so its destruction was a extremely traumatic experience.
The Temple’s destruction led Jews to reassess and restructure their faith. Judaism had been amazingly diverse – in fact, there were many different Judaisms, many different ways of being a Jew. But now the Temple’s destruction led Jews to think carefully about what exactly it meant to be a Jew.
By the end of the First Century many Jewish religious leaders had real doubts about whether the Jewish followers of Jesus – the people who claimed Jesus was the long-awaited messiah, the people who believed Jesus was the Son of God who had risen from the dead, the people who gathered each week for the Lord’s Supper - were in fact still part of the Jewish community.
So, the Gospel of John was written at a time when Jewish followers of Jesus faced an excruciating choice. Do they continue to follow Jesus and cut themselves off from the community – the nation – the people - of their ancestors? Or, do they remain part of the synagogue and turn their back on Jesus and his followers?
When we hear passages from the Gospel of John like the one I just read, on one level we are hearing a story of how different people responded to a powerful sign performed by Jesus – giving sight to a man blind from birth.
But, on another level, we are hearing a story about the crisis faced by a Christian community decades later. The people referred to as “the Jews” are really the Jewish religious authorities. The people referred to as “the Jews” are the Jewish religious authorities who challenged the followers of Jesus to take the risk of their lives, to break from the past and head into an uncertain future.
Over time, the Church forgot some of this history – forgot that everyone in this and other stories was Jewish – including Jesus. The negative depiction of “the Jews” in Christian scripture, especially in the Gospel of John, served as a tragic foundation for the horrors of Christian anti-Semitism.
All that I’ve said so far is a – hopefully – interesting history lesson. But it’s much more than history. As Christians, you and I face the same kind of choice as the man born blind, the man’s parents, the religious authorities and those early Jewish followers of Jesus living near the end of the First Century.
How do we respond to what we’ve seen – what we continue to see?
The man’s parents pass the buck. Talk to our son – we don’t want to get involved.
The religious leaders stubbornly and arrogantly think they’re the only ones who can really see - and so they miss out on seeing God at work.
And how does the man born blind respond to his extraordinary gift?
The Pharisees said to him, “Give glory to God!” In this context, “Give glory to God!” is a legal command to testify. The Pharisees command the man born blind to testify to what he has experienced, to testify to the gift he has been given, to testify to what he has seen.
Give Glory to God!
And, as best he can, that’s exactly what he does. Although his physical sight was restored after he washed in the pool of Siloam, it takes time to for his spiritual sight to clear.
First, he doesn’t know where Jesus is.
Then, he declares that Jesus is a prophet.
And finally he recognizes Jesus as the Son of Man.
But, although it takes time for his spiritual sight to clear, all along the man born blind testifies as best he can to what he has experienced, testifies to the gift he has been given, testifies to what he has seen.
In our own lives, you and I have probably never experienced something quite as dramatic as what happened to the man born blind. But, then again, maybe we have. When we stop and think about it, we see that we have received extraordinary gifts from God.
We’ve received the gift of life itself. We exist – which in itself is pretty amazing. We all receive the simple pleasures of life on this beautiful planet - feeling the warmth of the sun on our faces, hearing the birds chirping in the morning, enjoying the taste of food and the refreshment of cold water.
And most of us have received the gift of Baptism – the water in which God makes an indissoluble, an unbreakable bond with us.
In the water of Baptism God shows us the bottomless depths of love.
And day after day, Sunday after Sunday, we receive the gift of being part of the Church. For all the church’s failings and faults, it’s here that we experience God’s love in a community like no other. It’s here that we experience God’s love with people we might not otherwise ever meet or might not otherwise even want to meet. It’s here that we experience God’s love through God’s Word, through the Body and Blood of Christ, through the simple exchange of peace, through our fellowship and care for one another.
No doubt the distractions, burdens, disappointments and fears of life can cloud our spiritual vision. Like the man born blind, it takes time – maybe a lifetime – for our spiritual vision to clear.
Yet, although his spiritual vision was still not clear, the man born blind gave glory to God. The man born blind testified to what he had experienced, testified to the gift he had been given, testified to what he had seen.
How about us? are we willing to give glory to God by testifying to what we have experienced, by testifying to the gifts we have been given, by testifying to what we have seen?
We testify by the way we live our lives out there in the world.
We testify by living lives and by having values that are very different from the values out there in the world.
And, sometimes, like the man born blind we testify through our words. Like the man born blind, each in our own way, we tell people out there in the world, “One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.”
The story of Jesus giving sight to the man born blind operates on several levels.
On one level, it’s a story about how everyone responds in very different ways to what they have seen.
On another level, it’s a story about the Jewish Christian community around the end of the First Century facing the excruciating choice between the faith of their mothers and fathers or stepping out into an uncertain future as followers of Jesus.
And now here today you and I face our own decision. Although our spiritual vision may not be completely clear, how do we respond to the gifts we have received?
How do we respond to what we have seen – what we continue to see – all around us?
Like the man’s parents, do we pass the buck?
Like the Pharisees, do we stubbornly and arrogantly refuse to see?
Or, like the man born blind, do we testify?
Do we give glory to God?
Amen.
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