Acts 16:16-34

A lot has happened since Saul, Pharisee extraordinaire and chief persecutor of Jesus’ followers, got knocked off his high horse on the road to Damascus, and gave his life over to the cause of Christ. As is often the case with converts, Saul initially made quite a spectacle of himself preaching and “speaking boldly in the name of the Lord” in Damascus and Jerusalem, exhorting Jews and Gentiles alike to join him in his conversion (Acts 9:28). Apparently, Saul’s manner was so annoying that pretty much everyone who heard him wanted to kill him. So, the leaders of the Jerusalem church sent him away to Tarsus where he would be safe… and out of earshot. And the nascent church seemed to do well for a while… all eyes were on Peter “the Rock” who was making quite a name for himself as leader, healer and evangelist. The converts came rolling in. At one point, a disciple named Barnabas went and retrieved Saul from exile in Tarsus and brought him to Antioch (in modern-day Syria, far enough away from Jerusalem to keep him out of everyone’s hair) to help him proclaim the Word. And, apparently the two worked well together, for the better part of a year, winning many new believers for the church. In fact, it was in Antioch that the followers of The Way of Jesus first became known as Christians.

Of course, not everyone was happy with the increasing popularity of this upstart religion. Herod caused our patron James, son of Zebedee to be “killed with the sword”—the first of Jesus’ original twelve Apostles to die for the cause. Sadly, he would not be the last. Peter was arrested and imprisoned, awaiting execution when he was miraculously “sprung” from his cell… by an angel, no less! As one might imagine, Herod was pretty hard on the guards, who were all put to death. But what goes around comes around, and Herod, himself, died shortly thereafter… something having to do with being eaten from the inside by worms. Yuck. (Read Acts 12)

Meanwhile, Saul (who was becoming known as Paul) and Barnabas, accompanied for a time by another disciple named John Mark (who, many scholars believe, was the writer of the Gospel of Mark) set out on what would become known as “Paul’s First Missionary Journey” through Cyprus and Turkey. Over the course of two years (~44-46 AD) and fourteen-hundred miles, Paul and Barnabas visited cities around the region including Seleucia in Syria, Salamis and Paphos on Cyprus, Perga, Antioch in Psidia, Iconium, Lystra and Derbe, Pamphylia and Attalia proclaiming the Word of God, debunking false prophets, healing the sick and winning large numbers of converts for Christ. As the popularity of Paul’s message increased, so too did the anger and resentment of Jewish elders in synagogues throughout the region. Paul was rockin’ their boat… over-cooking their grits… interfering with their efforts to convert Gentiles to Judaism, and even causing decent, God-fearing Jews to stray from the path of Hebrew orthodoxy. And Paul, as a reformed Pharisee and persecutor of the church, knew precisely how far the synagogue hierarchy would go to maintain the status quo. So, whenever it looked like people were beginning to search the ground for rocks big enough to throw, Paul and Barnabas would move on to the next town, leaving behind the nucleus of a brand new church to spread the Good News of God in Christ in that particular corner of God’s creation (Acts, Chapters 13 and 14).

Today’s reading from Acts takes place during the first half of Paul’s Second Missionary Journey… which took him through Turkey, Greece, Judea and Syria over the course of four years (~49-52 AD) and a distance of around twenty-eight hundred miles… twice the distance of his previous journey. At one point, Paul and Barnabas had a bit of a falling out… Paul wasn’t all that easy to live with, after all… and Barnabas went his own way. So now, we find Paul in Philippi, in Macedonia (northern Greece) where he and his new traveling companion, Silas, were staying in the home of a woman named Lydia who, we understand from last week’s reading, was a “worshiper of God” (with a capital “G”) and also “a dealer in purple cloth.” As the apostles moved about the city, preaching, teaching and winning converts for Jesus, a slave girl with “a spirit of divination,” a fortune-teller if you will, began following them… making quite a spectacle of herself as she continually cried out that Paul and Silas were “slaves of the Most-High God, who proclaim to you a way of salvation” (v. 17). Well, I guess Paul didn’t like the idea of being merely the second most annoying person on the street, so “ZAP!” and the demon vamoosed. The slave girl’s owners got pretty mad… and complained to the magistrates, who first flogged Paul and Silas before putting them practically under the jail. There would be no escape. Then, in the middle of the night, there was the sound of prayer… and singing… and then of the earth moving. It wasn’t quite as cool as being sprung from jail by an angel… but it was close. I suppose the jailer could be forgiven for believing at that moment that his life was over… though he was soon to find that it had just begun. The jailer brought his former prisoners into his home and offered them hospitality: water to cleanse their wounds and food to nourish their bodies. Paul and Silas, in return, offered the jailer and his family the living water of Baptism, and the Bread of Life that never becomes stale.

There is much to ponder, here, about the nature of slavery, imprisonment and liberation. Certainly, the slave girl in today’s reading was, first, a prisoner of those who owned her… and also of the demon that lived within her, never allowing her to speak for herself or to be at peace with herself… until she was freed by Christ, through Paul. We don’t know what happened to her after the demon departed, but I like to think that she, herself, became a slave to the Most-High God, and began walking the way of salvation opened to her by Jesus Messiah. Maybe. Paul and Silas were stripped, beaten and shackled by temporal magistrates, but being slaves to Christ allowed them to rise above such worldly imprisonment and continue preaching their message of liberation and salvation through a life fully-lived in Christ… in an area of the world that, as far as we know, Jesus never visited… yet, which remains a bastion of orthodox Christianity to this very day. The jailer was a prisoner of what some might argue was a misplaced sense of duty. He had been prepared to take his own life for fear that he had failed his worldly masters and yet… upon hearing the Good News of the Gospel, he understood that he had a higher calling, as a servant of a new master: God… with a capital “G.”

Perhaps you remember a song written by Bob Dylan, back in 1979, in which he catalogs all sorts and conditions of people: from preachers to rock & roll junkies… from expats to business men… from city councilmen to the heavyweight champion of the world… and everyone in between. And he reminds them (and us) that no matter who we are, no matter how much money and autonomy we think we have… that we’re still gonna have to serve somebody. “Well it may be the devil or it may be the Lord…” sings Dylan, “…but yes, indeed, my friend, you’re gonna have to serve somebody.”[1] Good stuff.

So, here’s a question: Whom do you serve? To whom or what are you indebted? What captures you? What imprisons you? Like the slave girl in today’s reading from Acts, we are all beset by people… or organizations… or ideologies that seek to own us, that seek to impose limits on what we think and say and do. And most of us have our demons.Perhaps, like the jailer, we are held captive by “shoulds” and “oughts” and fears for the future. Maybe we don’t even realize how imprisoned we have become, through years of struggling and disappointment, to the status quo of lives not fully-lived in Christ. Do you have any habits that you know aren’t good for you… but that you’re having a hard time breaking? Do you sometimes spend too much money on stuff that doesn’t really matter? Or does fear of not having enough stuff sometimes prevent you from truly “paying forward” the gifts that God has given you? Are you captive to a destructive relationship that sometimes makes you forget that you are a unique and unrepeatable creation of a God who knows you down to the number of hairs on your head, who loves you no matter what, and who has had a plan for your life since before you were born? What keeps you from serving that God unreservedly… completely… joyfully?

In our Gospel lesson today, Jesus prays to his Father that “we all may be one…” with each other… and with him (John 17:20-26). And there is a purpose in this: that we may serve God fully and unreservedly by spreading the Good News of Christ’s death and resurrection to a world in need of hope. All day. Every day. In our words and in our actions. It’s not a part-time job. The quest for unity with God and each other should inform every aspect of our lives. It’s why we were made. What’s in it for us? Only greater joy and contentment here on earth… and the chance to spend eternity in the presence our Creator… which is not a bad gig, I’m thinking.

So, taking our cue from Dylan, if everything we do or don’t do (big stuff or little stuff) during our time on earth is in service to someone or something,the question becomes: what proportion of our lives are we offering up to God? Examine your conscience—be honest—give yourself a percentage score if you need to. And, understanding that a life fully-lived in unity with God and each other is The Way of true joy and salvation, ask yourself what’s stopping you from living one-hundred percent into your vocation as a servant of God in Christ.

Let us pray.

“O God, by the glorification of Jesus Christ and the coming of the Holy Spirit you have opened for us the gates of your kingdom: Grant that we, who have received such great gifts, may dedicate ourselves more diligently to your service, and live more fully the riches of our faith; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.”[2]

[1] Bob Dylan – “Gotta serve somebody:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wC10VWDTzmU

[2] Lesser Feasts and Fasts – 2006, New York: Church Publishing, 74

John 5:1-9

“Stand up, take your mat and walk.”

Another day, another healing… another way in which the writer of the Fourth Gospel demonstrates to his readers the awesomeness of Jesus the Christ, the Messiah. For some months now, Jesus has been shuttling back and forth between Galilee, Samaria and Judea performing signs and miracles… healing the sick and infirm… teaching people about the nature of God… and of himself. On this particular day, Jesus is just outside the “Sheep Gate” of Jerusalem at the pool of Beth-zatha.

The gate itself is thought to have been located in the eastern wall of the City, across the Kidron Valley from the Mount of Olives… and the Garden of Gethsemane. Jesus probably used it often. It was the first gate to be rebuilt after the Jews returned to Jerusalem after the Babylonian Captivity, and it is believed that this was the gate by which the offerings or sacrifices were brought into the Temple. The name of the pool is likely derived from the Hebrew and/or Aramaic language “beth hesda (בית חסד/חסדא),” meaning either house of mercy or house of grace.[1] So it’s not surprising, perhaps, that in 1938, the National Naval Medical Center was sited in a city in Maryland bearing that name. Perhaps some of you have heard of Bethesda Naval Hospital. But there’s a twist: in both Hebrew and Aramaic the word could also mean “shame or disgrace.” Isn’t it interesting how both of these meanings might have resonated with believers of the time. Since illness and infirmity were often thought to be punishments sent from God in retribution for sinful behavior, the location may have been seen, on one hand, as a place of disgrace… but also as a place of grace and healing for penitents.

Our New Revised Standard Version (NRSV) translation of the Bible leaves out about a verse and a half of text you may remember from the old King James Version. After covering the bit about all of the invalids: blind, lame and paralyzed, laying within the porticoes, King James adds that they were all “waiting for the moving of the water. For an angel went down at a certain time into the pool and stirred up the water; then whoever stepped in first, after the stirring of the water, was made well of whatever disease he had” (NKJV vv. 3b-4). For me, at least, that provides a little context. The man who had been lying on his mat for thirty-eight years wasn’t just hanging out in the shade! He was putting himself in the way of a miracle. And he got one… finally!  

There are a couple of “rabbit holes” we might explore in pondering this particular passage from Scripture. One is that Jesus often answers our prayers in unexpected ways. In this case, he said to the man (who didn’t even know he was praying): You stand up. You take up your mat. Youwalk. The synoptic Gospels contain a variety of accounts of Jesus telling miracle-seekers that God’s saving grace was all around them… and that what they really needed was faith. You know some of these stories… like the one about the woman suffering from a twelve-year hemorrhage… who reached out and touched the hem of Jesus’ robe. When she ‘fessed upand told him what she’d done, Jesus said, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed . . .” (Mark 5:25-34). Or the one in which Matthew tells us about two blind men who approached asking for healing. Jesus asked them if they believed if he could really do it. They said “yes,” and Jesus told them, “According to your faith let it be done to you” (vv. 9:27-31). In Luke’s Gospel, we learn of ten lepers who cried out to Jesus for healing. He told the men to go and show themselves to the priests, and when they did, SHAZAM!!! They’d been made clean. One of them (who was a Samaritan, by the way) returned to thank Jesus and prostrated himself at his feet. Jesus told him, “Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well” (vv. 17:11-19). The takeaway, I guess, is that sometimes the real miracle lies in our learning to rely on faith to open the way of God’s grace.

OR… we could talk about the significance of the Sabbath. Since the Jewish leadership was rarely able to condemn the substance of Jesus’ miracles… things like healing the sick, casting out demons and raising the dead, they were quick to quibble with his methodology. In today’s Gospel story, a man who had been an invalid for thirty-eight years had gotten his life back and… and… and… dang it Jesus, you shouldn’t be working on the Sabbath! I suppose it didn’t help when Jesus rubbed it in a little bit, a couple of verses later, when he told the elders, “My Father is still working, and I also am working.” That really made ‘em mad (John 5:10-18). Apart from Jesus’ pointed reference to God as his Father, the point he made about the Sabbath is this: God’s commandment to the Israelites to “Remember the sabbath day, and keep it holy” was followed by an explanation: “For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but rested the seventh day; therefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day and consecrated it” (Exodus 20:8-11). When Jesus made reference to his Father still being “on the job,” he was reminding the Doctors of Jewish Law (and us) that sabbath is less about a particular day of the week, than it is about maintaining boundaries between what we do to live… our work, our mundane toil… and the things we do that are life-giving… fruits of the Spirit… gifts from God… that allow us to live into our vocation as Kingdom-bringers (cf. Galatians 5:22-25). Jesus schooled the Pharisees in similar fashion on another occasion when they criticized the disciples for plucking heads of grain and eating them as they walked through the fields one sabbath. Jesus responded by reminding the Pharisees of a time when young King David was running from his arch-nemesis, Saul, and the priest at the Tabernacle had given David and his companions the Bread of Presence (normally reserved for priests only… on pain of death!) to eat because that’s all there was to sustain them in the purpose that God set before them. Jesus was inferring that his disciples were also about the Lord’s business as they traversed the fields that particular day, and needed sustenance to complete the work they had been given to do. The sabbath was made for man,” said Jesus, “…not man for the Sabbath” (Mark 2:23-28 NKJV).

How about one, last rabbit hole? If you read on in John, Chapter 5, you’ll notice that the more hostile the Jewish hierarchy becomes towards Jesus, the more persistent Jesus becomes in spreading the good news of the Kingdom, and of God’s salvation: “Very truly, I tell you, anyone who hears my word and believes him who sent me… has eternal life, and does not come under judgment, but has passed from death to life . . . the hour is coming, and is now here, when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God, and those who hear will live  . . . I say these things so that you may be saved” (vv. 24-25, 34b). Our Gospel story today takes place about two thirds of the way through Jesus’ period of active ministry. Jesus understood all too well where he was headed, and how it was all going to end, and yet he remained steadfast in his mission to spread the good news of God’s love and salvation to people in need of hope. Some received Jesus’ message of love and forgiveness, and it changed their lives… and the trajectory of human civilization. Others heard the message and decided that the world (at least their world) would be better off without Jesus. And Jesus saw it coming, but he never stopped preaching love.

We are living during a period of history in which identifying ourselves as Christ followers, or in the words of former Presiding Bishop Michael Curry: members of the “Jesus Movement,” might be a risky proposition. Christians are being persecuted around the world right now with an intensity that hasn’t been seen since before Christianity was adopted as Rome’s state religion in 380 AD.[2] Some might say that this is the inevitable result of the religious hegemony Christians have exercised over large swathes of the planet for the past couple of millennia. And maybe they’re right. We haven’t always been good “ambassadors for Christ” . . . or of “God’s righteousness” (cf. 2 Corinthians 5:20-21), have we? And it’s been said that “what goes around comes around.” In any case, it’s a troubling time… a time of uncertainty… a time when we might be tempted to “circle the wagons” and assume a defensive posture… to withdraw into enclaves of like-minded believers who practice a religion of safety and security and exclusivity, distancing ourselves from the ever-increasing suffering and instability we see in the world around us. Or worse, when we’re ridiculed for our faith or become subject to physical persecution, we might be tempted to react as Peter did when asked by the High Priest’s servant if he was one of Jesus’ disciples, and reply, “I am not” (John 18:15-27).

Jesus could have raised an army and surrounded himself with so powerful a group of followers that neither the Jewish leadership nor even the Romans could have touched him. Or he could have simply forsworn his mission and his ministry and lived a quiet life looking after his mom in Nazareth. But he didn’t. He understood that being about his Father’s work(cf. Luke 2:49 NKJV) was more important than any illusion of safety or security that this world can ever offer. “For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul,” he said (Mark 8:36 NKJV). I sometimes have to remind myself that, as Christ-followers, we have signed up to be sent forth against insurmountable odds. To be reviled and spit upon, if need be, for the sake of Jesus and his message for the world. We were made to preach… and keep on preaching… God’s love and salvation until our dying breath. That, my friends, is what we’ve signed up for.  

How are we doing with that? Are we stepping out in faith each and every day? preaching love? despite the odds and all of the noise to the contrary, believing—knowing—that God’s saving grace is all around us, and that we may apprehend (take hold of) it by faith alone? My brothers and sisters: God. Is. With. Us. and will provide rest… and refreshment…the sabbath we crave… as we strive to “fight the good fight” (cf. 1 Timothy 6:12) and accomplish the work we have been given to do. So, let us allstand up, take our mats and be about our Father’s business. And take heart! The reward will be more than we could ever ask for… or imagine.

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pool_of_Bethesda

[2] The Edict of Thessalonica, issued on 27 February AD 380 by three reigning Roman Emperors made Nicene Christianity the state religion of the Roman Empire.

John 10:22-30

Welp, it’s Mother’s Day… so I’m going to re-tell y’all one of my favorite Mother’s Day parables… one that concerns this very Parish. Once upon a fine spring morning, as I turned off Bradford Street onto the St. James’ campus, I saw something a little unusual: a fair-sized possum crossing the gravel driveway headed from the area of the Parish House towards the wood line on the edge of the property. Now, seeing a possum isn’t all that unusual in this part of the country… they’re pretty common. What made this particular possum encounter a little uncommon was, first and foremost, the time of day: possums are generally nocturnal. And second, as the possum crossed the drive (moving pretty quickly, because it saw me coming), it made a little “hop” about mid-way across the gravel before disappearing into the undergrowth. As I looked more closely, I could see something else: small and gray and furry moving on the gravel about where the “hop” had taken place. When I got out of the car to see what it was, I found that it was a baby possum, not more than five inches from nose to rump, making its way with great difficulty across the uneven gravel toward the wood line, following what I realized must have been its mama. The “hop” had probably been more of a forceful nudge. The baby’s coat was thin… just beginning to grow in, and its eyes were not fully-open. Too big to be in the pouch… too small to be out on its own. As it moved, it made a continuous “chuh… chuh… chuh…” sound almost like a prolonged series of stifled sneezes. Perhaps it was sick, I thought. In any case, the way things were looking, it probably wouldn’t be long before it was snapped up by a hawk… or a cat. Even a churchyard can be a dangerous place for a baby possum separated from its mother. Looking past the baby towards the wood line, I saw mama watching and waiting in the shadow of the undergrowth. She wasn’t going anywhere. I didn’t want to touch the baby, partly because it I didn’t want to frighten it, and partly because I didn’t want to transfer my scent to it. So, I found a small twig that had fallen from a tree, allowed the baby to grab ahold of it with its little pink claws and then, gently, carried it to the edge of the undergrowth and lowered it to the ground within a few feet of its mother. The baby had been pretty quiet during its airborne transit from the driveway to the wood line, but as I walked away, I could hear it starting up that odd “chuh… chuh… chuh…” sound again. Later, I Googled “possum sneezes” and learned that baby possums, known as “joeys,” don’t mewl or squeak like many other baby mammals. They call out to their mothers by making that “chuh… chuh… chuh…” sound. So now you know. I’m glad I was able to help reconnect mom and baby, and I hope they are doing OK. God loves possums too.

I tell you this story to illustrate the point that we all need help sometimes… some mothering, or nudging, or “shepherding,” if you will, to make it from where we are… to where we need to be. Jesus once spoke of wanting to “gather the children of Jerusalem together as a mother hen gathers her brood under her wings” (Luke 13:34 and Matthew 23:37). And both the Old and New Testaments are full of metaphors that invite us to compare the relationship between God and God’s people with that of a flock of sheep and its shepherd. Isaiah, one of the prophets most-often quoted by Jesus, describes the way God cares for his people: “He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom. . .” (40:11). Both Moses and David had some early shepherding experience before they became famous, and David used a sheep metaphor in writing the words of our Psalm today: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want” (23:1). Chapter 10 of the Fourth Gospel is positively brimming with metaphors of Jesus as Shepherd. We only read a smidgen of the chapter today, but in it Jesus refers to himself as the “gate keeper,” protecting the entrance to the sheepfold and ensuring that the sheep are not led astray by false shepherds (vv. 1-10)… and as the “Good Shepherd” who freely places himself between the sheep and the wolves, willing to lay down his life for the sake of the flock (vv. 11-18). Some of these metaphors made folks back in the day scratch their heads. “He has a demon!” said some. While others wondered, “Can a demon open the eyes of the blind?” (vv. 19-21). In the end, Jesus had to spell it out for them: “Everything I do, I do in my Father’s name… that’s Father with a capital ‘F.’ We are together. My sheep get it… they’re saved. You guys… not so much.” So, they tried to stone him… again (10:31-39, cf. John 8:59).

Jesus was pretty insistent about the importance of the flock following the voice of the shepherd. Flocks exist for a purpose, and an effective shepherd leads them in the way of that purpose. When sheep stray, they’re not living into the purpose for which they were created… and that’s when things inevitably begin to fall apart. Elsewhere in the Bible, we read of the consequences of sheep straying, and being led astray, by false shepherds. Ezekiel railed against “shepherds” who were leading their “sheep” astray in Judah in the years leading up to the destruction of the First Temple, and the Babylonian Captivity (34:7-16). Later, after the Jews had returned to Jerusalem and rebuilt the Temple, the prophet Zechariah warned that God would take a sword to the (ineffective) shepherd and (once again) scatter the sheep… so that the flock could be culled… and then rehabilitated over time (13:7-9). You’d think God’s people would have learned from their experiences in Babylon, but they apparently still had some work to do. Later, the Apostle Paul would urge the elders of the nascent church in Ephesus to keep careful watch over themselves… and the “flock” with which the Holy Spirit had entrusted them, in order that the wolves might not come and prey upon it (Acts 20:28-29).

The Apostle Peter referred to the Church as a “priesthood of all believers” (1 Peter 2:4-10). As such, we are all shepherds… and we are all sheep. Like the elders of Ephesus, we must guard ourselves—and one another—from the predations of the Evil One… from the wolf who seeks to scatter and separate us from each other and from God. And with that in mind, I’ve come to believe that the real danger is less in our straying from religious tradition and orthodoxy—whichever flavor happens to suit our fancy—and more… much, much more… when we become estranged from God and from our neighbor. Like the Hebrews of Biblical times, when we stray from The Way of faithfulness to God and to each other—that’s when things begin to go wrong.

Love God. Love your neighbor (and everyone’s your neighbor). And don’t judge. It seems so simple… and yet, success in following these commandments often eludes us. The Good News is that we have Jesus, the Good Shepherd, to help keep us straight… leading us in The Way of God’s righteousness—strengthening us with words of comfort and guidance… and showing us The Way to live into the purpose for which we were created… if only we will listen! We know his presence. We know his voice. And just as we know his voice, so too does the Good Shepherd know our voices: the emanations of our hearts and souls and minds, as we make our way… sometimes with great difficulty… through this life, half-blind, yet straining forward, hungry for a truth greater than this world can ever satisfy. And just as mama possum stayed close by her struggling joey as it made its way from a place of danger… to the safety of the wood line, so too will Jesus be with us every step of our earthly sojourn, with all of its valleys and shadows. No matter how dark it gets, no matter how difficult the road, we will never be left to face our perils alone. 

Thanks be to God!

John 21:1-19

You know how to make God laugh, right? Tell him your plans.

Welcome to the Third Sunday of Easter. I think it ought to be called “Saints Peter and Paul Sunday,” for the conversion of St. Paul and the redemption of St. Peter. Both were good men, with strong personalities, and yet, they were also different in so many ways. One was a fisherman, the other a “doctor of the law.” Both were honorable, with strongly held beliefs about how they should live, and plans for what they wanted to do with their lives. But God had other plans—plans for the redemption of the world!—and both Peter and Paul were destined to help play a part in that mighty work.

Simon Peter features prominently in all the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ life and ministry. He was a leader and an example-setter… sometimes for the good, and sometimes by demonstrating what not to do or say… by “taking one for the team,” if you will. He was one of the first to be called as an Apostle, and the first to confess Jesus as Messiah (Luke 9:20). With John, Peter was present for the Transfiguration of our Lord (Luke 9:28-36), and at many other pivotal moments of Jesus’ ministry. And Peter was brash. Sometimes he said things and did things without really thinking them through. He almost walked on water once (Matthew 14:22-33). The Gospels are full of references to things Peter said and did, some of which probably caused Jesus to roll his eyes. And on those occasions when Jesus called out his disciples for their lack of faith, Peter was usually one of the main culprits. And yet, Jesus loved him… and named him “the rock” upon which the church would be built (Matthew 16:18). For all Peter’s faults, scholars often refer to him as “chief” among the apostles.

But I’m pretty sure that Peter wasn’t feeling all that great about his relationship with Jesus at the outset of today’s Gospel lesson. Let’s rewind a bit to the events leading up to Jesus’ arrest and execution. During Jesus’ last meal with his disciples, he had strongly admonished Peter about his resistance to having his feet washed, pointing out that failure to submit to such washing constituted a barrier to Peter’s ability to love and serve others (John 13:1-20). Peter had dozed off when he was supposed to be keeping watch with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, waking confused and bleary eyed, just in time to cause injury to one of the High Priest’s slaves… an injury Jesus would then have to heal (Luke 22:39-53). Another reproof. And then the denial… not once, not twice, but three times…. just as Jesus had predicted, despite Peter’s loud protestations of his faithfulness (Luke 22:54-62). He wasn’t there to help Jesus carry the cross. He wasn’t there to stand with him on Calvary. He wasn’t there to help bury him. Those had been dark days for Peter, filled with guilt… regret… and shame. That golden day on which Jesus had called him “the rock” must have seemed but a distant memory.

Then there was Mary’s news of the empty tomb, a foot race with John… and the dawning reality that Jesus had kept his promise. Against all odds, he really had returned from the dead (John 20:1-10)! I wonder if Peter felt a combination of overwhelming joy… mixed with dread. He seems to have been “lying low” during the early post-resurrection appearances. He’s not mentioned in either John’s or Luke’s account of Jesus walking through walls to appear to the disciples in the upper room, which seems odd given how large Peter looms in so many other Gospel stories. Perhaps he was there, perhaps he wasn’t… in any case he (atypically) wasn’t calling attention to himself. Peter was having a tough time, and as many of us might agree: when the going gets tough… the tough go fishing. I guess there’s just something about “fooling fish” that helps make us feel a little better about ourselves. But I also wonder if Peter was regressing a little bit… he had been a simple fisherman before meeting Jesus and, now that he had proved (to himself at any rate) that he was patently unworthy of being one of Jesus’ followers, maybe it would just be best if he could just slip back into his former obscurity. Only, Jesus wasn’t about to let him get away with that.

“Children, you have no fish, have you?” Perhaps Peter thought back to the last time someone had given him fishing advice, and about how that person had changed his life when he said, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people” (Matthew 4:19). And that’s all it took. All of Peter’s guilt, regret and shame melted away in an instant… and he jumped into the water and swam to meet his Savior. I can imagine the other disciples watching Peter thrashing his way towards the shore to meet Jesus, saying to themselves, “Peter’s back.” And he was. Oh, he still had some work to do… some repentance and reconciliation to be undertaken—Jesus wasn’t going to minimize Peter’s shortcomings—but he would forgive them… and set Peter on the road to becoming the leader that the future church in Jerusalem needed him to be.

And let’s not forget Saul. While he may not have been brash in the same sense as Peter, he was certainly just a wee bit cocky… or “confident in the flesh,” as he put it: “circumcised on the eighth day, a member of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless” (Philippians 3:5-6). Pharisees typically get a pretty bad rap in the New Testament. They were, in essence, Jewish “fundamentalists” who ascribed to, and promulgated, a very strict interpretation of Mosaic Law. Pharisees were among the most educated and literate members of Hebrew society, and Jesus often singled them out (along with the Scribes) as hypocrites for their prideful-ness and for failing to “walk the walk” when it came to adhering to the divine Law that they espoused. All that said, being a Pharisee was a pretty big deal. Most Pharisees tended to view themselves as the sole arbiters of what was good and proper in Hebrew society. I expect we all know a few of those… right? And Saul was a Pharisee’s Pharisee… a stickler for detail and zealous in harassing and persecuting this upstart Jewish sect who believed that their Messiah had come… and that his name was Jesus. Saul was present for the stoning of St. Stephen (Acts 7:54—8:3). Heck, he might even have been handing out rocks for people to throw. And yet… and yet… God had a plan for Saul, who would become Paul, Apostle to the Gentiles. And it began with a blinding flash of light that knocked that Doctor of the Law off his high horse and left him blind and helpless on the ground… but with ears newly-attuned to the voice of Jesus telling him what he needed to do to live into the purpose that God intended (Acts 9:1-20). And you’ll hear more of Paul’s story over the few Sundays… if you find yourselves in the pews for worship… but here’s my question for you today:

What plans do you have for your life? Are you pretty sure, as Paul was, that you have it all figured out? You’ve decided what you want to do, and who you want to be, and you won’t let anyone or anything turn you from that path? Look out. Or you might be wondering if life has passed you by: maybe your ship came in, but somehow you missed it. Maybe you think, like Peter, that you’ve managed to make such a mess of things that you’ll never be able to get back on track. Think again. Perhaps you’re afraid that you’ve accomplished whatever it was that you were sent to this earthly schoolhouse to do, and now you’re just marking time. Unh-uh. If you’re still here, then God isn’t through with you. God. Never. Wastes. Anything. And that includes your time. Each of us has a part to play in God’s redemption of the world and, like Peter in Jerusalem and Paul in Antioch, and Ephesus and Corinth and a whole raft of other faith communities around the Mediterranean Basin, we are called to “be church” in our own little corner of God’s creation, loving our neighbors and spreading the Good News of Jesus Christ to a world in great need of hope. 

Now… who wouldn’t want to be part of that?

John 20:19-31

Our Easter Sunday Gospel ended with Jesus revealing himself to Mary outside the empty tomb and telling her, “Don’t hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’ Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, ‘I have seen the Lord;’ and she told them that he had said these things to her.” In fact, all of the Gospel accounts tell us of Jesus’ admonition to Mary to tell the disciples the good news of his resurrection. Luke informs us, however that, “the words seemed to [the disciples] an idle tale and they did not believe them” (24:11). All but Peter, perhaps. Neither Matthew nor Mark mentions the disciples’ reaction to Mary’s news at all.

It is now the evening of the day of the resurrection. The disciples are gathered “in a house . . .” we aren’t told whether or not it was the house in which they shared their last meal with Jesus a few days before. But it could have been. We do know that this faithful remnant of Jesus’ followers were frightened, fearing that they too might become victims of the mob that had put their Master to death. We can only imagine the diversity of feelings on display on that particular evening: confusion, fear, anger, resignation. There would likely have been rumors of hope, the empty tomb and Mary’s claimed encounter with their Teacher, their Rabbouni. The air was probably thick with emotion.

And then, from out of nowhere, “Peace be with you.” This was not a simple greeting; it was a statement of fact. Peace was, indeed, with them. Despite all of the locks and bars and the great stone that had separated death from life, Jesus was in their midst, bearing visible scars from his victory over the grave. And the disciples rejoiced… and rejoiced… and rejoiced, until Jesus stopped them: “Peace be with you.” This time it was a command. Certainly, some of the disciples recalled Jesus’ words spoken after the Last Supper, “A little while, and you will no longer see me, and again a little while, and you will see me . . . Very truly, I tell you, you will weep and mourn, but the world will rejoice; you will have pain, but your pain will turn into joy” (John 16:16, 20). Jesus had kept his promise.

“As the Father sent me, so I send you.” A breath… and then, an invocation: “Receive the Holy Spirit.” We will never know exactly what the breath of Jesus felt like… perhaps it was like God breathing life into the first human (Genesis 2:7). Perhaps it might be compared with the breath to which Ezekiel prophesied in the Valley of the Dry Bones: “Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live” (Ezekiel 37:9). Or perhaps it was more akin to the breath of Aslan, in C.S. Lewis’ Prince Caspian, comforting and fortifying young Susan Pevensie for the work she had been given to do:”You have listened to your fears… Come, let me breathe on you. Forget them. Are you brave again?”[1] What we do know is this: the Holy Spirit became present with the disciples as Jesus added specificity to their commission, “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” Viewed in the broader context, this commission is not limited to acts of granting absolution through penance, or even excommunication, but includes, in the words of Johannine scholar Raymond Brown, “partial manifestations of a much larger power, namely, the power to isolate, repel, and negate evil and sin, a power given to Jesus in his mission by the Father, and given in turn by Jesus through the Spirit to those whom he commissions.”[2] This is pretty heady stuff. In John’s Gospel, the time between Easter and Pentecost was compressed into a few brief, but eventful, hours. God had a plan and a mission for the disciples and there wasn’t a moment to lose.  

And then there’s Thomas. This is the same Thomas who, when Jesus had announced his intention to go to Bethany to resurrect Lazarus said, “Let us also go, that we may die with him” (John 11:16). You’ll recall Bethany is near Jerusalem, where there was likely a price on Jesus’ head. In any case, Thomas missed Jesus’ first appearance, and had reacted to the news in much the same manner as had the disciples in Luke’s Gospel… “Unless I can see him with my own eyes and feel him with my own hands, I will not believe” (v. 25). Interestingly, there is no indication in Scripture that any of Thomas’ colleagues “tattled” on him. Some may have argued with him, while others simply rolled their eyes, looked at each other and said, “That’s just Thomas… bless his heart.” But no one said anything to Jesus, as far as we know. Yet, a week later, when the disciples were again gathered in the house, Jesus once more came among them, reminded them that Peace was with them… and then went straight to Thomas. We’ll never know exactly what was going through Thomas’ head (and heart) as Jesus met him face-to-face, offering him the very thing he needed to strengthen his faith. It appears, however, that Thomas no longer felt the need to touch, only to look upon the one who knew what he needed before he could even ask. “My Lord and my God,”he said. Could there be a more powerful and complete confession of faith?

And despite all of Thomas’ frailties, Jesus loved him. After all, he had chosen him as one of the Twelve… chosen him to spread the Gospel. Jesus’ gentle admonishment: “Have you believed because you have seen me?” could have been addressed to any of the disciples. All (even Mary) had needed to see in order to believe. And they had. And now their pain had turned to joy, just as Jesus had promised. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” This is less a dig at Thomas, I think, than it is words of encouragement for us… we who are not able to meet Jesus face-to-face… not on this side of life, at any rate. “Blessed” (Gr. makarios), as it appears in this passage, means happy.[3] We’re not better than Thomas… we’re able to experience the joy of being in relationship with Christ because of Thomas, and the other disciples whom Jesus commissioned to “make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:19). We owe a lot to Thomas.  

The Good News of our Lord Jesus Christ is God’s promise of salvation to those who give in to his movement and purpose in their lives. And just as God had a plan and a mission for Thomas and that first generation of disciples, so also is there work for us to do in our own generation: to continue spreading the Good News of Jesus Messiah to a world torn by strife and in great need of hope. The challenge often seems as daunting for us as it must have been for those disciples huddled fearfully behind locked doors, tenuously awaiting the miracle promised by their Master. But just as Jesus recognized and provided for Thomas’ unspoken needs, so too will we receive whatever may be needful to accomplish the work God has given us to do.  

Peace is with you, my brothers and sisters.

[1] C.S. Lewis, Prince Caspian (New York: Macmillan, 1978), 148.

[2] Raymond Brown, The Anchor Bible: The Gospel According to John XIII-XXI, Vol. 29A (New York: Doubleday, 1970), 1044.

[3] Brown, 553, 1027.

Luke 23:1-49

Oh, what a difference a week makes in the Biblical narrative of the life and ministry of Jesus Messiah. Five days, really. We don’t know exactly how long it was between Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem on the back of a colt… or a donkey… or a colt and a donkey, depending upon which Gospel account you’re reading, and the night of his arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane. It might have been five days… it might have been longer… it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is the way Jesus spent these last days of his earthly ministry. After weeping over the impending destruction of Jerusalem, a fate that would be brought about by the willful blindness of its leaders, Jesus went straight to the Temple and ejected the merchants and money changers who had turned it from a house of prayer… to a house who’s occupants preyed upon the unwary (Luke 19:45-48).

Over the next several days, the chief priests and scribes tried again and again to trick Jesus into saying something blasphemous… something actionable, but he was too smart for them. Jesus’ spoke of baptism (Luke 20:1-8), vineyards and wicked tenants (vv. 9-16), and the stone that the builder rejected (vv. 17-19). He reminded the religious elders of the difference between what belonged to God… and what belonged to Caesar… and of their responsibilities in each case (vv. 20-26). The people loved what Jesus was saying; the Scribes and the Pharisees… not so much. They eventually stopped harassing Jesus publicly, plotting instead to shut him up for good. Jesus knew what they were up to… but he never let up on them. If anything, he turned up the heat. He called them out as “hypocrites” and “blind guides” and “whitewashed tombs…” pretty from the outside but brimming with corruption on the inside (cf.Matthew Chap. 23). It almost seems as if Jesus was trying to force the hand of the Jewish religious establishment… trying to make them come after him.

Jesus’ disciples were likely concerned… some more than others… especially when Jesus spoke of the destruction of the temple and the end times…of natural disasters, persecutions and sacrilege… and of “‘the Son of Man, coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory” (Luke 21:5-28). He spoke of the need for watchfulness… and preparation (vv. 34-38). Jesus did lots of teaching during these last days… time was short and there wasn’t a moment to lose. It’s hard to know precisely when the situation escalated to the point of no return. Scripture only tells us that, on a particular day, Judas Iscariot approached the chief priests with an offer they couldn’t refuse… and they didn’t (Luke 22:1-6).

A last evening among friends: the institution of that most wonderful of meals: the Lord’s Supper… some final teachings about servanthood… and love… and betrayal (John 13:1-35). And then Jesus found himself alone with his Father in the gloom of Gethsemane, praying while the disciples slept, oblivious to the Passion drama beginning to unfold around them. A kiss, a shriek of pain… a final healing (Luke 22:47-53)… and then Jesus was led away and brought before the chief priests, bound, beaten, reviled as a trophy of their unbelief and finally turned over to the Roman Governor of Judea, the only man in the region with the authority to order his summary execution.

So here we are, immersed in the same Passion drama as were Jesus’ disciples two millennia ago. Of course, we have a bit of an advantage over them because we know how the story turns out. But we also know about the suffering and degradation that must take place before the final victory is won. In a way, I envy the disciples for their unknowing. Because with the unknowing comes a certain innocence… how could they have known that all of Jesus’ suffering was for them? How could they have understood the implications of such a gift, freely given… and their responsibility as recipients of God’s grace: to take up Jesus’ cross… and do their part to help restore God’s Kingdom on the Earth?

I’m still not always sure we really get it. And I guess we don’t need to… I mean really get it. It’s a mystery after all. But we need to try. I asked the question earlier in this season of Lent: “What if it really is all about us?” What if God really did send the Messiah, the Christ, to show us an example of what it means to be fully-human, the way God intended us to be from the dawn of creation? And not just collectively… but each of us! What if God is every bit as concerned about us individually… the greatest and the least of us… as he is about nations and ecology and the Church with a capital “C.” What does that tell us about how we need to be living our lives each and every day? “This is my body… this is my blood, which was given for you, and for many, for the forgiveness of sins…” to bring about your salvation, your atonement (your at-one-ment) with your Creator.

But even if it is “all about us,” this week, we are called to walk with Jesus on the road marked with suffering…on the road of his Passion, as he pours out his Body and Blood to make our Salvation possible. And none of us is innocent… unlike the disciples, we do not have the benefit of “plausible deniability.” We know we’re culpable in Jesus’ death. We know all this is happening because of us. And for us. And we really don’t know the end of the story, do we? Because the end of the story is us. The end of the story is how we pay forward the gifts with which we’ve been entrusted. We are saved by grace apprehended through faith (Ephesians 2:8). Think about that over the next five days of Holy Week as we relive, together, the story of the betrayal and execution of Jesus Messiah.

John 12:1-8

Who here stands with Judas? Who among you is thinking: Well, Judas is Judas… and we know the part he’s going to play in Jesus’ arrest and execution… but maybe he has a point in this case. As he so often did, Jesus had just turned his followers’ ideas about righteousness upside down. While at supper in the house of Mary and Martha and Lazarus, whom he had just raised from the dead, Jesus allowed Mary to do something “over the top” for him: to spend an incredible sum of money on feet that would be dirty and dusty and dried out again after a couple of hours on the road. Jesus’ earthly ministry had regularly focused on caring for the poor and needy in body, mind and spirit, and I suppose Judas could be forgiven for experiencing a profound “disconnect” between what Jesus had always said… and what Jesus seemed to be endorsing in this case: “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me” (vv. 7-8).

All the Gospel accounts tell the story of the “Anointing at Bethany” in one form or another. The details vary: Matthew and Mark assert that the supper was taking place at the house of Simon the Leper, and that “a woman” poured the ointment over Jesus’ head (Matthew 26:6-13 and Mark 14:3-9). Luke tells us that Jesus and his disciples had been invited to dinner at the house of a Pharisee, and that “a woman who was a sinner” (oooh… I wonder what that means?) anointed Jesus’ feet and dried them with her hair (Luke 7:36-50). All of the accounts record extreme indignation expressed by those who were at table with Jesus. But only the Fourth Gospel has the story play out in the home of Lazarus, with Lazarus’ sister Mary performing the ministrations. And only the Fourth Gospel mentions Judas as the one criticizing Jesus’ acquiescence.

You’ll notice that I refer to John’s Gospel as the Fourth Gospel. That’s because it is the fourth gospel in our Canon of Scripture, and because scholars aren’t 100% sure who wrote it. There was only one “John” among Jesus’ disciples, and he was John the brother of our patron James, son of Zebedee. He was a fisherman and likely only barely-literate, if at all. He probably didn’t write it, though some Biblical scholars believe he may have dictated portions of it in his latter years. Nor does the author seem to have been John of Patmos, whom scholars believe penned the Book of Revelation. Without going down too much of a “rabbit hole” here, let me simply say that scholarly consensus seems to indicate that the Fourth Gospel was written in as many as five stages during the period between the First and Second Jewish Revolts in Palestine… so, from ~66 to ~135 AD. So, the narrative was crafted and honed over a span of around seventy years… by multiple redactors (or authors), one… or some… or none of whom may have been named John. Confused yet? Don’t worry; there won’t be a test.

But here’s another thing scholars tend to agree upon: the writers of the Fourth Gospel, whoever they were, were very concerned about the deepening rift between the Jewish religious hierarchy and Jewish Christians (i.e., Jews who believed that Jesus was their long-awaited Messiah). For many years after Jesus’ resurrection and ascension, the Jerusalem Church, under Peter and the remaining Apostles, had continued to worship in the Temple and in synagogues… sort of “under the radar.” As long as they didn’t create a fuss, it was “no harm, no foul.” And Christians were no more or less fractious than any other Jewish sect—they were just part of the broader Jewish “ethnos,” which often looked and behaved like a big, complicated family. Maybe you know the sort of dynamic I’m talking about.

But then, as things began to heat up between the Jews and the Romans, the relationship between Jewish religious leaders and new Christian converts also became more strained. Relations continued to deteriorate after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 AD. Judaism itself seemed under threat of eradication and the surviving leadership began taking steps to cull non-conformist sects from its worshiping communities by standardizing and enforcing various aspects or “codes” of Jewish religious life… by applying a litmus test, if you will. The underlying message was, “If you’re really Jewish, prove it!” And the consequences were devastating for Jewish Christians. There is evidence to suggest that Christ-followers were expelled en masse from synagogues throughout the region of Palestine around the beginning of the second century. Their Temple destroyed… the city of Jerusalem closed to them… Christian Jews now found themselves excommunicated—by their own people. This was the context within which the Fourth Gospel was written… by Jewish Christians who felt abandoned and betrayed by brothers and sisters, and the rabbis and teachers who had always led them. 

Perhaps that’s why the writers of the Fourth Gospel were so hard on Judas. They probably never knew Judas, but they knew of Judas, and Judas seemed a perfect stand-in for the perpetrator(s) of their present misery: the betrayers, the trust-breakers, the ones who had left them “in the lurch.” Don’t get me wrong… I believe the writers of the Fourth Gospel proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ as it was handed down by the Holy Spirit. But I also believe that God speaks to different people in different ways, and that the language of John’s Gospel seems to have had a particular resonance with second-century Jewish Christians who found themselves cut off from home and faith… and who were in great need of hope. So, thanks be to God for the Fourth Gospel!

But enough history. I’ll ask again: who among you stands with Judas? Still no takers? You know what I think? I think that we are all sometimes tempted to respond like Judas when confronted with the “disconnect” between our own priorities and those of Jesus. And I’m not simply talking about our own tendency to seek worldly wealth and security for ourselves, sometimes at the expense of others. I’m talking about those occasions when we think we’re doing good stuff: you know, when we think we have it all figured out… when we’ve adopted a platform of priorities and causes that, if only the world would implement them, would help cure all its ills. And they’re usually good causes. Who’s going to argue against fomenting world peace, making sure everyone has access to healthcare and eradicating poverty… feeding the hungry and ending homelessness, just to name a few? These are all worthy endeavors, but they’re not the sum-total of the reason we’ve been placed here on this earth. All the good works we could ever accomplish on our own are just “band-aid solutions” to problems vexing our world… if they’re not the result of our ever-deepening relationship with God. Being a member of the Body of Christ and a bringer of God’s Kingdom is about so much more than simply catering to people’s physical needs. It’s about becoming “the salt of the earth” and “a city on the hill” to people who will see you transfigured and transformed by the light of Christ and say: “I’ll have what she’s having.” That’s evangelism! That’s the best way to love our neighbors. And that’s why we’re here!

Judas’ big error in our Gospel story today was in thinking that he had it all figured out… based on an incomplete understanding of Jesus’ teachings. He had stopped listening to Jesus… after he’d heard what he wanted to hear. I’ll say that again: Judas had stopped listening to Jesus when he’d heard what he wanted to hear. Do we ever do that? Are we sometimes overeager to forge ahead with our own plans and schemes, hoping for self-validation… or instant gratification in the form of a pat on the back from friends and neighbors for our good works? Some of these “good works” might make us feel good, but if the real purpose in our having undertaken them—which is deepening our relationship with God—has become an afterthought, then all our good works are for naught.

And then there’s Mary of Bethany. Mary was the one who had sat at Jesus’ feet, listening raptly to his discourse one day when he and his disciples were visiting her home, while her sister Martha hustled and bustled around the house tending to all the guests. When Martha had complained to Jesus, he had told her that Mary was doing OK… and to cut her some slack (Luke 10:38-42). You remember the story, right? And immediately preceding today’s Gospel story, this same Mary had seen, with her own eyes, her brother Lazarus walk out of his tomb, his hands and feet still bound with strips of (burial) cloth, resurrected by the power of God manifested in Jesus Messiah (John 11:17-44). So, Mary had kind of a special relationship with Jesus, one born out of love and admiration… but also tragedy and renewed hope. We have no reason to believe she was insensitive to the needs of the poor… she just had her priorities straight. Mary had figured out that true righteousness comes not through works, but through faith in Christ, and in God’s righteousness (cf. Philippians 3:9). Her relationship with God in Christ would inform all her actions and priorities… and, right now, accompanying Jesus on the way of his Passion… on the way of the Cross… was more important than anything else she could say or do. Sadly, that was something Judas never figured out. So, the question becomes: will we?

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

Once, when I was about seven or eight years old, I ran away from home. Some of y’all have heard this story. My mother helped me pack. We lived in a pretty-safe neighborhood in a brand-new suburb outside Tampa, Florida where most everyone knew each other, so safety wasn’t really an issue. And the weather was nice. I don’t remember exactly why it was that I decided I needed to part ways with my family. Maybe I was mad about something, or maybe I was just feeling my oats… I don’t know. It was pretty classic: I had a stick with a small bundle attached to the end that I could carry on my shoulder. In the bundle was some food, maybe an extra shirt and one or two prized possessions I didn’t think I could live without. And a hat. It must have been hard on my mother watching me walk down the driveway to the street—cocky as all get out—with a spring in my step, never looking back. It must have hurt. I had no idea where I was going… only that this was something I needed to do. I guess I was out “on my own” for two or three hours before I decided that I had accomplished whatever that was that I had set out to accomplish… and headed for home. It wasn’t quite dark as I walked up the driveway and saw the lights in the house on: beckoning… welcoming. I saw my mother silhouetted in the kitchen window. Waiting. Perhaps she hadn’t left the window during the time I was gone. Looking back on it now, it must have taken a lot of courage for her to let me go. Courage and trust. Courage that she was doing the right thing in letting me get it out of my system, and trust that God would look after me and bring me home safe.

How many times have we heard the parable of the Prodigal? How many times have we heard it preached on? Often, the point of a homily preached on this parable is God’s compassion and forgiveness in response to human repentance: “While he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him” (v. 15:20b). And that’s a good message. Sometimes, a preacher will focus instead on the elder brother’s resentment of the father’s largesse in welcoming home his wayward sibling: “You have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back . . . you killed the fatted calf for him!” (vv. 15:29b-30). We all occasionally need to be reminded that coveting the blessings of others is, in essence, our failure to trust God to provide for our needs… Amiright?

This go-around though, I’ve been thinking about how the father must have felt when his son packed up all his stuff and left home for parts unknown. The parable leaves that to our imagination. I wonder if the father felt a little bit like God in the Garden calling out to Adam after he had betrayed God’s trust… “Where are you?” (Genesis 3:9). Most of us betray God’s trust everyday… in things done and left undone. But just like the father in today’s Gospel story, our Heavenly Father gives us the freedom to go our own way… and make our own decisions. And off we go… cocky, self-righteous… never looking back. It must hurt. God is omniscient, but the gift of freewill complicates things. So many bad things can happen when we detour from the way God sets before us. And God knows all too well the extent of the damage we may do ourselves through our wandering. And still… he lets us go. Why? I wonder if it’s because being allowed to make our own choices, and then having to deal with the consequences, is an inescapable part of our spiritual maturation… what John Mabry calls our “growing into God.”[1] If God made all our choices for us, then how would we ever learn to be responsible? And if we’re not responsible, then what does that say about us: as creatures made in God’s image, with dominion over all of God’s creation? I’m pretty sure God’s vision for us includes our learning to make responsible choices, but I’m just as sure that God aches for us when we stumble. And we do stumble. A lot.

I’ve done a lot of thinking (and worrying) about responsibility and consequences over the course of raising five children. It gets particularly tough when kids get to be in their late teens and early twenties, when they are old enough—and independent enough—to do themselves some real damage when they make wrong choices. That said, there comes a point when parents have to give their children what is rightfully theirs—in this case, the freedom to make decisions—and then send them off down the metaphorical driveway with their pack on their back. I’ve come to understand that, despite all the risks and the heartache, parents can take comfort, knowing they’ve done their job… if their children (1) know the difference between right and wrong—they may not always do the right thing, but they know the difference—and (2) if their children are basically kind. The rest of it… young people need to figure out for themselves. Don’t get me wrong, parents might provide their offspring with a little insight and enrichment from time to time, but it is teaching them what is right… and the value of kindness… that provides the foundation for everything else. How does it make you feel when people you care about strike out on their own… depart the good path that’s been set before them… and end up getting lost? Pretty lousy, huh? It’s OK to hurt. And it’s OK to yell at God… God’s been there. God is still there. Waiting for us.Watching and waiting for all of us prodigals to come home.  

Lent is more than a season of the Church year… it’s a state of mind. It’s that moment when we wake up among the pigs, hungry for something that we used to take for granted and realize that home is the only place we will ever find it. And when we’re having trouble finding our way, we can take comfort and counsel in the words of the prophet Jeremiah: “Thus says the Lord: ‘Stand at the crossroads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls’” (v. 6:16). I’m going to play you a song titled: “You’ll find your way,” by Andrew Peterson. It’s about a young boy, pack on his back, leaving a sun-dappled clearing… walking off into the woods alone. His father stands in the middle of the clearing, watching his son leave, offering a benediction of hope and encouragement. As dusk settles in, the father lights lamps to illuminate a path back to the clearing… back home. And waits.

Video: “You’ll find your way” by Andrew Peterson

[1] John R. Mabry, Growing into God: A Beginner’s Guide to Christian Mysticism (Wheaton, IL: Quest Books, 2012).

Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18

A careful study of the socio-historical context of Hebrew Scripture reveals a lot about the relationship God wanted to have with his Chosen People in Old Testament times: one based on submission and trust in his righteousness. And it invites a question: How might such a relationship between God and the people inform relationships between neighbors… back in the day, and in our own time? How might the world change if we tried a little harder to emulate God’s righteousness in our relationships with others? Isn’t that, after all, one of the things we pray for when we pray the Lord’s Prayer? “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.”

In today’s passage from Genesis, God was speaking to Abram, telling him about all the good things that were in store for him and his children and his children’s children. But Abram (perhaps lulled by the informality of his conversation with the Almighty) was hesitant, unable to believe that God would, or could, do everything that he was promising. Does that ever happen to you? It does to me, sometimes. So, God said to Abram: “OK, I get it. You seem to be having trouble believing what I’m telling you, so we’ll seal the deal in a way you can understand.” 

Four thousand years ago in Canaan, blood rituals known as “suzerainty treaties” between a king and an inferior subject typically involved the sacrifice of a number of animals, provided by the subject. The greater the status of the overlord… the greater the value of the animals and the solemnity of the occasion. After the animals were slaughtered, the lesser party to the ritual would process through the midst of the carnage, reciting oaths that spelled out his obligations to his new master. Sounds pretty gruesome, huh? But blood was the most precious commodity there was back in the day, and that’s why it was used to formalize the most important relationships. And I suppose that there was some sign value to the lesser party standing amidst the carcasses of dead animals. Maybe it served to remind him of where he ranked in the grand scheme of things. But here’s what made the suzerainty treaty described in today’s reading from Hebrew Scripture different from the others: it was not the lesser party passing through the bloody remains of sacrificed animals. It was God. It was the Master and Creator of everything that is… promising Abram that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars in heaven, and that they would be given a great land in which they could live and thrive… if only they would be faithful. This was God demonstrating that there was nothing he could not do—and that he was willing to meet his people halfway, and more than halfway—to be in relationship with them.

Sadly, this would not be the last time that God would have to show his goodness and power in this fashion… stooping to redeem his stubborn, stiff-necked people from the consequences of their disbelief. It would happen again and again: through the covenant “set in stone” with Moses atop Mount Sinai (Exodus 20), later reaffirmed with David (2 Samuel 7:8-29) and, finally, through the New Covenant—the Incarnation—the Word made flesh: Jesus, the Christ. Fully divine, yet fully human, God in Christ met us halfway on the road that spans the distance between heaven and earth, so that we could be more-fully in relationship with him… at-one… healed.

I find it instructive, as well as poignant, that Jesus uses the implicit analogy of fox and chickens in today’s Gospel lesson (Luke 13:31-35) to remind us that God’s arms are always open to us. God wants to gather us to himself as a hen gathers her chicks… to save us from the predations of the Evil One and lead us on the path of righteousness. But we balk!Sometimes, like the Prophet Jonah (and most toddlers), we run as fast as we can in the opposite direction God is calling us to go… and then watch, with sadness and disbelief, as our protector and sustainer, our Messiah, is torn for our sake… all because we were unwilling to meet the Master and Creator of the Universe halfway. That thought gives me a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. How about you? But God never wastes anything. You’ve heard the phrase, “in for a penny, in for a pound?” It means that once you’ve started something worth doing, you don’t give up on it. And despite all our stubbornness and disbelief… despite all the promises we’ve broken, God won’t give up on us.

During this season of Lent, I challenge you to open your eyes to the goodness and mercy that God shows you every day. And I’m not just talking about “happy stuff.” You know… things that we really want… and then when they work out we say, “It was just a God thing.” No… some of God’s goodness and mercy is hard. It stretches us… and molds us to the limits of our endurance in order that we may become the creatures that God created us to be… so that we can take up our vocations as bringers of the Kingdom. I challenge you to open your heart to the movement and purpose of God in your life and in the world around you… the opportunities that God is giving you to be the Body of Christ to a world in need of hope! And, finally, I challenge you to think… to open your mind… and figure out what it is that continues to separate you from God. What is it that is preventing you from meeting God halfway? It doesn’t matter where you’ve been, or what you’ve done. Love awaits… arms open and outstretched. Step into that Almighty embrace… and be healed.

Luke 4:1-14

It’s a pretty familiar story, isn’t it? The story of how the Savior of the world was subjected to the perils of the wilderness: extreme isolation and exposure, hunger, thirst and exhaustion… and the insidious machinations of the Tempter, a fallen angel bent on diminishing or destroying him.

You know, there are a lot of New Testament scholars—very smart people—who grapple with this story: Jesus in all of his humanness… beset by a supernatural and immensely powerful antagonist—the very personification of cosmic evil—tested to the limits of his ability. And he comes out on top, but at great cost, it seems. Certainly, it was no cakewalk. What was going on here? Why was it so hard? This is Jesus…the Christ, the Messiah we’re talking about here… the Son of God. Was he just getting up to speed? Or was he going through a rough patch? Or did the fact that Jesus had taken on mortal flesh mean that he could, just possibly, have failed the test? And if you’re looking to me for definitive answers to these questions, I’m sorry to disappoint you.

But I wonder… You know, the purpose of the Gospels was to spread the Good News of God’s salvation, reflected in the death and resurrection of Jesus the Christ. Each of the Gospel accounts provides a fairly-detailed description of Jesus’ three years of active ministry in Galilee and Judea, beginning with his baptism by John in the Jordan. Matthew and Luke add a birth narrative… and Luke recounts the story of twelve-year-old boy Jesus in the Temple. But even in these more-comprehensive accounts of the life of God’s Son, there’s a big gap between the beginning of the story and its end. And so, we are left to wonder just exactly what Jesus was up to during all of the intervening years between his childhood and his death and resurrection. And I guess we’ll likely never know… certainly there are some apocryphal gospels in circulation that purport to fill in some of the blanks from those “lost years,” but they just don’t seem to have the “ring of truth” for many of us. And they apparently weren’t convincing enough to merit inclusion in the official canon of Christian Scripture established by the earliest Church fathers, who lived much closer to the time that all of this took place. So, we just don’t know as many of the details as we’d like. And maybe that’s on purpose… maybe we don’t need to know. God is pretty good at giving us what we need, don’t you think?

In any case, here’s what I do know: if the Word was present at the beginning of everything… and if the Word was with God and the Word was God… and that same Word became flesh and lived among us for a season (John 1:1-18), and if an angel of God told Mary that she would be “overshadowed” by the Most High and conceive a son who would be holy… and be called the Son of God (Luke 1:26-38), then there was never a time when Jesus wasn’t God. There was never a time when Jesus didn’t know how to be God. If Jesus ever had any doubts about anything (and I’m not convinced he ever did), it was whether or not he would be able to get his message across to all of his thick-headed disciples. Including us. Jesus had been going around all his life being Jesus… and God… all wrapped up into one inscrutable package. And I believe we’ll come to understand how all that works one day, but not today.

So, we’re left with the question: what was up with Jesus being tempted by Satan in wilderness? We have been told that we, ourselves, will never be tested beyond our ability to withstand (1 Corinthians 10:13). And if Jesus was Immanuel: God with us (cf. Isaiah 7:14 and Matthew 1:23), and I believe that he was, this is not a story about a test that could have taxed Jesus beyond his ability to endure. What then? As we read the Gospels, it’s pretty clear that Jesus was always working… always teaching… and preaching… and healing the sick in body, mind and spirit. Everything Jesus said and did had a purpose. And with that in mind, I propose that, although the themes of wilderness and temptation loom large in today’s Gospel passage, we should also be thinking about what it means to trust God to sustain us no matter the difficulties that beset us… no matter how weak and fragile and flawed we may consider ourselves to be. 

Jesus didn’t come to show us how it worked to be both God and human. We don’t need to understand that… because it’s way over our heads. We’ll never know the mind of God. We can and we should be working to become more like God—that’s the reason we’re here—though we’ll never be anything more than human… not in this lifetime… and that’s plenty! But Jesus came to show how we can be fully-human. Jesus took on mortal flesh so that he could set an example for us of what it means for creatures (that’s us) to be fully at-one with their Creator. I know you’ve heard me talk about “at-one-ment,” which is the root of atonement, before, but I don’t think the concept can be overemphasized. Especially during Lent. There should never be a day under the sun when we are not examining our lives minutely to discern new ways in which we can live more-fully for God. There should never be a rock we leave unturned in our quest to find… and root out… those attitudes and behaviors that separate us from God. These are not exclusively Lenten practices. These are for every day. Lent just gives us a chance to redouble our efforts and begin anew our lifelong vocation of learning how to become fully-human… in accordance with the example set for us by the Savior of the world: God with us.

Jesus knows we’ll be tempted. And Jesus knows we’ll stumble. It’s in our nature. But our Gospel story today demonstrates that Jesus will stop at nothing to show us that putting our trust in God, completely and without reservation, is the first step on the straight (and narrow) way to salvation. Forget food, forget clothing, forget all of the trappings and idols of daily living to which we cling so tightly. Instead, hold fast to God’s Holy Word. You won’t be disappointed. Set aside your earthly strivings: your lust for wealth and power and position… and put yourself at the disposal of the Most-High. Nothing feels as good as being “at-one” with God. You can argue with God… you can even seek to bargain with God. But never forget that, in the end, God is God, and you are not. There is great comfort and liberation in praying from the heart: “Thy will be done.” Jesus endured forty days in the wilderness to show us that, in the end, there is no wilderness that can isolate us from God. There is no trial we cannot endure—if we allow God to share the burden with us—and there is no need that God cannot satisfy… if we’ll put our whole trust in him.

Dear friends in Christ: I wish you a blessed and holy Season of Lent.