So this week, I found myself feeling frustrated and asking God how we can remain undefiled by the spirit that lures us into forming factions, judging, rejecting, and dividing, and how we can embrace one another - not just despite our differences, but because of them, because we recognize that we’re incomplete without each other. Our task is to joyfully listen to the views of Christians we disagree with because we know that they are made in God’s image, have God’s Spirit, and have an experience of God’s revelation that I do not have.

“Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” “People of Union County, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” There’s work to be done.

Don’t look up, look out – to our community.

Don’t look up, look in – to the resources that God has poured into our lives.

Don’t look up, look forward – to the future that God is designing

Don’t look up, look out; and in; and forward.

It’s hard to live in exile. When you’re miles from home; when you no longer see the people you love; when you have your freedom denied you. But when your exile is just 2,000 yards away, it’s maybe harder. 2,000 yards away you can hear the sounds of the parties taunting you, mocking you, reminding you of your captivity, and the life you are missing. It’s hard to live in exile when freedom is 2,000 yards away. But how much harder is it when your exile is just a few feet from freedom?

We're very aware, painfully so, of Jesus' command to love our enemies. But it can be just as hard to love Christian brothers and sisters. Doing something compassionate for someone on the other side of the planet or reaching out to a person we see only occasionally doesn’t require great emotional investment. But when it comes to members of our parish, people we see up close and interact with frequently, it can be a different story.

We human sheep need a whisperer. A Good Shepherd. Someone who is not just powerful to protect us, but knows us by name, cares for us, loves us, even lays down his life for us. And the promise is this: “No one will snatch them out of my hand.” God’s promise to you is this: “No one will snatch you out of my hand.”

Sermon from The Rev. Christopher M. Decatur, Assistant Rector at St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Westfield, NJ

Rector: The Rev. Dr. Duncan Johnston

Assistant Rector: The Rev. Christopher Decatur

Director of Music: Mark Hyczko

Sometimes we try to keep God out of our lives. We hide behind locked doors, like the Eleven - afraid of what might happen if we open up the doors of our hearts or minds. But even when we pull down the blinds, board up the windows, lock all the doors and install metal bars, we are not beyond the reach of God. Locked doors are not a problem for the Risen Christ.

What are you running from? I run from voices – especially that one in my soul that tells me I must perform perfectly if God is going to love me. I don’t work hard enough, my heart is not committed enough, my results not stellar enough. I have disappointed God and I’ve let people down. And this voice knows exactly when to whisper – after a grueling day, when I’ve had a disappointment, when I’ve messed something up. But the grave-shattering, life-instilling truth of Easter Day is this - stop running. Just stand, turn around, and behold the empty tomb.

Am I prepared to take the time and effort to search for the real Jesus, looking past my own thoughts and wishes about him? Are we ready to search for the Christ of Holy Week? Because he’s out there. He is the servant who stoops to wash our feet. He is compassionate with the sick, he befriends children, he is merciful to those who have been rejected. He speaks words of comfort to the uncomfortable, gives rest to the weary and companionship to the lonely. He never tramples on anyone’s dignity. He is never patronizing to the marginalized, but sees the likeness of God in the disabled person, the foreigner, the child, the woman. Does our Jesus match up to the real one, or does he have favorites?

In these final two weeks of Lent Mary breaks open a perfume jar, and breaks open my hard heart. She kneels before Jesus to pour her ointment, and she stands before me and challenges me to worship with the same uninhibited, sacrificial service. She touches those divine feet and calls me to touch people in my life who need compassionate connection. She literally lets her hair down and challenges me to abandon myself in the worship and service of God.