Fear can lead us to some pretty dark places. Fear can prevent us from trying new things. Fear of the unknown can prevent us from learning and growing. Fear doesn’t come with a switch. We can’t always control what and when we fear. We certainly can’t turn it off at will. Fear is something we overcome, work through and live beyond. Like it or not, we pretty much know this in our life (although some of us try our best to deny it). Understanding this dimension of fear is integral to a deeper understanding of the resurrection appearances of Jesus at the end of the Gospel of John.

On Easter Sunday the disciples are more than afraid…they are terrified. Jesus was arrested, tortured and executed. It wasn’t unreasonable for them to think that they would be next. As a measure of protection, they lock themselves in a room. This, even after the woman had born witness to what they experienced at the tomb and what Peter and John had experienced. They receive from Jesus peace and the Holy Spirit. Yet the next week, when Thomas has his encounter with the risen Christ, they are still closed up in a room. The door is no longer locked, but they are cloistered away. This important story reminds us that Jesus shows up again and again to teach, guide and encourage his friends. Resurrection and Easter isn’t a One and Done affair.

This is good news for us. It is a reminder that what Jesus did for the disciples, he does for us. The risen Christ shows up again and again in our lives, into all of our locked rooms and cloisters, to help us learn, grow and make sense of our Easter faith.

When dawn broke on Easter Sunday, and light flooded into the tomb, the secret that the darkened tomb had held was revealed. On this day, a new reality dawned as that secret was revealed: Christ had risen. This new reality was more than vindication of Jesus’ teaching, a sort of cosmic “I told you so.” On that day resurrection ushered in new life…not just for Jesus, but also for us.

The old rules about life, about power, about human relationships and faith relationships were broken apart and a new possibility emerged. The pathway to this new life and possibility was to follow the way of Jesus…self-giving love. Once we experience this gift of grace and are transformed by it, there is no going back. We know the truth; the old rules bring only death.

This is an important reminder as we begin to emerge from the Coronavirus pandemic. We know that we can’t simply turn back the page and go back to the way life was. However, we may not yet know what the next steps will hold. We stand on the threshold of the empty tomb, looking out on a new world. May the risen Christ lead as we take our next steps.

In this Palm Sunday worship, we explore the tension between the Messianic image that Jesus presents and the reality that his actual ministry disappointed the messianic expectations of his time. Jesus enters the City of Jerusalem as a bringer of peace, even though the crowds expected conflict. In his entry into the City, he paves for us a new path. He has given us a choice about how we respond to the injustices, corruption and divisions within the world. If we follow Jesus' path, we will choose love over hate, community over division and self-giving love over self-seeking.

Finding peace in the age of COVID, political upheaval, climate change and the ongoing conflicts around racial reconciliation is a tall order. As fragmented as we feel in this Advent season, there is a word of hope for us. Scripture reminds us that when we seek God’s presence in our life we are opened to the experience of “the peace that passes all understanding.” The witness to this reminds us that even in the most chaotic and bleak moments of our life and history, God is present, and peace is possible.

The path toward this peace encourages us to rethink how we approach prayer. We can engage in a contemplative form of prayer that brings our greatest need into the full light of God’s grace. Rather than an escape, forms of contemplative and meditative prayer help us to become immersed in God’s life-giving presence in our life here and now.

As we grow in our ability to practice this rhythm in our life, we begin to see that peace is not some ethereal, other worldly escape from reality. In fact, what we can experience is best described in line with the Hebrew concept of Shalom. We can experience wholeness in all of our relationships with God, others and our self, even when conflict, uncertainty and fear are present. This is a powerful gift that will enable us to not only get through this season of grief, but it will bring us into a new day of hope, healing and life.

As we move deeper into our life of discipleship, we learn that there are different ways to wait. As a culture, I believe that we struggle with waiting because we view waiting as passive. We equate waiting with inactivity which runs counter to a deeply engrained Protestant Work Ethic which prizes productivity. And yet, as people of faith we are reminded that there are times when we must ‘wait upon the Lord’. The activities associated with waiting, chief among them prayer, are too often diminished because they are not seen as kinetic enough. For those who know the power of prayer to connect us to God and one another, we know that prayer is anything but passive.

These are challenges that make Advent more difficult for us. Advent is a season of waiting and expectation, but to this as passive is an adventure in missing the point. Advent is not about waiting around for God to show up with a big splash. Nor is it sitting around waiting for Jesus to come at the end of all things. Christmas and the experience of God’s incarnation in Jesus remind us of what Scripture witnesses…the risen Christ is always showing up, especially in bleak times.

This is meaningful to us in this Advent season. As we have been shaken by so many of the experiences of this year, one thing is clear. We need Advent. We need a season where we seek out the gifts and grace that God has for us for this time. We need to engage with the power and the hope that will guide us into a new year and whatever will come next.

Do the right thing. This is an admonition we have heard all our life. We have heard it from parents, pastors, teachers and mentors. If we all did the right thing all the time, we have this hope that the world would be much different. However, reality teaches us that it isn’t always that straightforward. Different perspectives and different motives about what constitute the “right” thing can lead to vastly different results. As a consequence, the conflicts and divisions continue, and the battle lines are reinforced. To make easier to digest, even the church can resort to platitudes about simply performing right actions instead of doing the deeper work that is called for by the Gospel.

As Matthew concludes Jesus’ teaching with the third parable of Matthew 25, The Judgment of the Nations, he is emphasizing more than doing the right thing. Jesus reveals that to be aligned with God requires more of us than right action. He is calling for a redrawing of relationships. Jesus’ ministry was a lab school in drawing into the Beloved Community those who had been marginalized. In a bold stroke to make sure we move beyond a charity model he regards these persons as members of his own family. If we would claim to be part of Jesus’ family and of his inheritance, relationship with the marginalized is inescapable.

In a fractured world, we are being called to redraw the boundaries by drawing in those who have been pushed to the margins.

The one thing that we have absolute control over is how we frame our experiences and sense of the world. Some might say that this isn’t as big a deal as it sounds. And yet, when we face adversity the ability to look beyond any particular moment can make all the difference between being mired in it and rising up above it. Can we see the bigger picture of the moment, or do we only see it in terms of how it affects us? Can we step back from the pain of the moment and discern what there is to learn to carry us forward? This is the key and the power we have to frame what we experience.

To turn this into “little orphan Annie” theology doesn’t do it justice. It is not the bright faced, pie in the sky Pollyanna…The sun will come out tomorrow. Rather, this transcendence is made possible when we see God as a generous giver, who gives because God’s deepest desire for us is to know the healing, wholeness and transformation that is possible when we see ourselves in relation to God.

When we see God’s gracious giving in every aspect of our life, then even in our adversity, we see that we are not alone. Sometimes, that is all we need to take the step out of swamp and into God’s bright light.

No matter how confident we are in our preparation, life will always throw us curves. One measure of our life and faithfulness is not the avoidance of the unexpected, but how we navigate these twists and turns. There will never be a guarantee that we are fully prepared to solve the problems that arise in an uncertain world. If 2020 has taught us anything, it is that. The parables of Matthew 25 are designed to shine a light on how we live as disciples of the risen Christ in uncertain and challenging times. Unfortunately, these parables are often misunderstood and interpreted in ways that don’t keep faith with their original intent.

The first of these parables, the Bridesmaids, often leads to value judgments in favor of those Bridesmaids who brought an extra flask of oil, like somehow the others were lazy. The ones who didn’t bring extra oil simply didn’t factor in the unexpected. If we start making value judgments about not being prepared for the unexpected, pretty soon we will all be judged. The parable has a deeper point: Based on the example of Jesus what choices do we make, what view of the world, what spiritual disciplines will best enable us to weather the unexpected? This becomes a matter of how we live every day. Are we learning and growing every day? Or, do we think it will be sufficient to cram at the very end of the semester? Are we seeking to engage or just know enough to get by?

The call of this text is especially important at this period in our history. We are at an inflection point. The change we would hope for is in our hands. Will we engage in the sort of spiritually disciplined life in which we can learn what it will take to live into a new day?

Each year, as we celebrate All Saints Sunday, the space between us and the eternal community becomes very thin. We remember an often-forgotten truth about the Body of CEach year, as we celebrate All Saints Sunday, the space between us and the eternal community becomes very thin. We remember an often-forgotten truth about the Body of Christ. So often we think about the Church as the people we see and interact with each week. Yet, Scripture reminds us that we are part of an eternal community. Each time we gather for worship, we worship with all those who have gone before us. Each time we serve in the spirit of the risen Christ, we serve alongside all those who have trodden that path before. Each time we come to Christ’s table, we feast with all those who have feasted before us. I admit, these important remembrances only consciously cross my mind a few times a year, most especially on All Saints. I remember my mother and my grandparents. I remember colleagues who now rest from their labors. I remember church members whom I love and miss. It is a day when history collapses into a moment and it is a profound blessing.

This is no mere recollection; some rose colored nostalgia. All those we remember have become part of what the writer of Hebrews refers to as the “Great Cloud of Witnesses”. For this writer, we are strengthened by the continued role they play in our life. Their faith and their witness continue to provide strength, instruction and encouragement as we face the difficulties of life and faith. The love that we share with them doesn’t die with them. The eternal nature of God’s love for each of us brings the of our dear ones to us in concrete ways every day.  In these difficult days, we can find peace in the knowledge that we are not alone.

As we consider all that we have lost during the pandemic, it is a natural impulse to hold accountable the people who are responsible for the failures that have led us to this point. When the history of this time is written we will no doubt find a number of failures, misjudgments, mistaken perceptions, bad choices and corruption. While this is a natural and important process of evaluating our past, not every motive for it his helpful or healthy. For instance, if the assignment of blame is a step toward some sort of political power grab, it is likely to be neither helpful nor healthy. However, if a thorough review of the process, choices and responsibility is part of a larger learning that helps us avoid future pandemics, then it can be both helpful and healthy. The choice is ours.

As we consider this exercise from a faith perspective, we can easily see a spiritual dimension that guides our approach. As we consider the story of the prophets and Israel’s exile, we gain important insight into how we can move forward. Israel found themselves beaten and exiled by the Babylonian Empire after a series of political, social, economic and spiritual choices that didn’t serve them well. This was a cataclysmic upheaval for them. Even though they had turned their back on God and were thoroughly broken, God did not turn God’s back on them. Exile was not the last word. Restoration, Renewal and New Life was God’s next chapter in the Israelite story. The prophets sought to find powerful images to communicate this hope to the people.

Because exile is never God’s end game, we are liberated to see our present and our future differently. We can claim our identity with strength and confidence. Even in COVID separation, We Are Still the Church. We learn from where we have been. We see the grace in what God continues to teach us and the new dreams that God inspires. In faith, the ways that we approach our work going forward can be sign acts of hope for all those around us who feel the pain of this time.