April 26 -- Third Sunday of Easter

Friends in Christ, grace to you and peace from Jesus, who comes to us, and walks with us today and always. Amen.

Well, I spent some time this week following the advice I’ve learned and shared frequently in my ministry...but haven’t always followed myself, to be honest.

I’m often saying, especially in terrible times, when you don’t have the words — when we don’t have the words — we fall back then on the holy words of the church:  The ancient prayers of the faithful, the lyrics of the hymns God’s people have been singing for decades and even centuries, the litanies and greetings and call-and-responses that have carried us through.  You know, like:  “The Lord be with you, and also with you; Christ is risen, Christ is risen indeed; God is good, all the time.  All the time, God is good.”  And of course, when we don’t have words, we fall back on the holy words of Scripture.

And this has been another tough week.  This week we learned of Doug's death, one of our own members.  Doug just joined the congregation in January.  He died from the many complications associated with Alzheimer’s.  And like so many in this terrible season of pandemic, Cecelia wasn’t able to be with him physically at the end.  Patty's mother Dorothy died too...also not related to the virus, but the whole situation is plagued by this physical distancing.  Patty’s a member of Bethlehem and has been walking a long journey with her mother (and father) in their declining health.  Please pray for Cecelia and her family, and Patty and her family, especially her father in this time of deep grief.

These are just two situations where words are hard to find.  There are thousands more, and especially in these days.  And how we can be rendered wordless.  Preachers, whose job it is to share words!
Feeling dry.  Feeling at a loss.  Feeling choked up.    
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Did you know the Road to Emmaus is a windy, down hill?  Down hill walking can be a gift, on one hand, I know.  But it’s also hard on the knees for one thing, and for symbolic purposes, I think the imagery is loaded:
the disciples are spiraling downward.

They don’t have the words.  They’re getting (or already are) overwhelmed with sadness and bad news.  They had hoped, they had hoped, they had hoped…
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So anyway, back to me :)  I decided to follow the advice I’ve shared before, but don’t always follow so well:  I fell back into the story, this Road to Emmaus text specifically.  I’ve preached on this text many times.  I’ve read it and riffed on it many more, you’d think there would be something for me to say, but I was coming up wordless this week.  Spiraling down, like the disciples in the wake and waves of the news and our people, our family members, our friends, and all those we don’t know who are suffering right now.  So much pain out there, so much pain in here [heart].

So one night this week — how does one fall back into the text — I lit a candle, poured myself a little scotch, and just started hand writing out this long Gospel text from Luke.

(BTW, if that sounds at all like a life-giving activity, I strongly encourage you to do the same with this or any of our lessons from Scripture.  Don’t do it if it feels like mindless punishment, writing on a blackboard the same thing over and over.)

There is just something that happens, when we fall back.  When we go back to the text.  When we dive deeper than a quick read.  True confessions: there are some Sundays, in my preparations that I only read over the text once or twice.  Just to get it in my head, [rushed] “Oh yeah, Road to Emmaus.  I know this.”  Maybe you long-time Christians do the same when familiar texts come up: “Here we go again, with the Easter story, I know this already…”

We don’t always and deeply “dwell” in the Word, do we?  I admit that I don’t.  There’s bills to pay, people to call, kids to feed, Zoom meetings to make, and on…and especially in a period of descending chaos.
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Well, here’s what jumped out at me in my writing out Luke 24: 13-35, in my attempt at dwelling:

There is this interesting dynamic in the movement (or lack) of the two disciples vs. Jesus.  The only movement the disciples are doing is yes, downward, to Emmaus.  But what I noticed was also a certain paralysis.  There’s that moment at the beginning when the disciples stood still, looking sad.  That struck me.  It’s like they were stuck, in their pain and their grief.  In their despair, the draining of hope.

The only direction they could go was down, seven miles down.  Paralysis means a loss — literally a loosening — of power and ability from performing regular functions.   Sound familiar?

People beating themselves up for not being able to perform regular functions these days, or confused why they can’t “take advantage of all this down time”?  Why’s our house in disarray when we’re in it so much?  Why can’t I get to those projects or make those phone calls or update those records or whatever?  Why am I wanting to curl up and pull the covers over my head?  Paralysis?  A loosening of power to do regular stuff?

How we had hoped too, we’d be back by now, recovering soon, up and at ‘em...thought Jesus would redeem Israel...

And then, even after the seven mile walk with the risen Lord, opening the scriptures to them, journeying with all along the downward path, they were still stuck that evening.  Crashing for the night.  Closing up shop.  Maybe a little light was shed that day by this stranger with them, but sundowners, they’re lost, confused, scared — paralyzed — all over again.

Jesus was ready to go on, on the other hand.  Always moving.  (Theme in Luke.)  Jesus is the opposite of paralysis.  The contrast is stark.  It’s procession vs. paralysis in this text.  Jesus is always in procession.  This text begins with Jesus moving too.  Action verbs like “coming close” and “walking along,” and  then he’s ready to keep going even at the end of the day, even through the night.

And here’s the goldmine, friends in Christ:  At the bottom of the hill, Emmaus, when the day is done, the disciples ask Jesus to stay with them in their paralysis — in their stuck-ness, in their fear, and absence of hope, in their sorrow and in their confusion and anxiety about what the future holds.  They plead with him, it’s like the only energy or strength they have left, the only pull they have.  They urged him, the text says.
“So he went in to stay with them.”

Precisely when we’ve got nothing, Christ comes through the door and stays with us.  Precisely when we’re at the bottom, out of answers, out of words, out of hope, out of joy, out of peace, out of faith, that’s exactly when Jesus stops the procession for the moment and stays with us.

And then, in the breaking of the bread, their eyes, our eyes are opened.  In the physical being together and physical eating together, and physical praying at table together and I’ll just add the physical singing together — how I miss you all and our being together in body!

In the breaking of the bread, their eyes, our eyes are opened!

Suddenly they realize, wait a minute!  Wasn’t he with us all along.  Through all our paralysis, through every step of our decline to Emmaus.  When we crashed?  When we couldn’t go on?  He was there all along, opening the scriptures, walking beside, never leaving!

And right in that moment, he vanishes, and they’re OK with that.  I’ve always loved that.  You might think they ought to crash all over again, right?!  As if they are losing Jesus all over again!  But it’s the remembering that powers them, that fuels them.  “Were not our hearts burning…”  It’s this re-visioning that doesn’t just lift their spirits:
It sends them “that same HOUR” all the way back to Jerusalem!  The text says, the moment they recognized him, that night at table, they got up and went all the back, up the hill to Jerusalem!

That’s Christ resurrection procession, as opposed to despairing paralysis.  That’s what Christ does for us too, friends!

Christ is with us, in every step we take, in every crash we make, through all our confusion, and fear, and anxiety and heartache.  Christ is with us.  Christ is with you, and so…

Our paralysis is cleared too.  Even through the night of pain and pandemic, the loss of words, even death itself, even 7 miles down, through Christ, we can now, you can now process up hills...to go and tell the others — to share our bread, to love our neighbors, and to descend with them like Christ descended with us.
This is most certainly true.  Alleluia.  AMEN.

April 19 -- Second Sunday of Easter (Blessing of the Animals)

Sisters and brothers, grace to you and peace, in the name of the Risen Christ.  AMEN.

“If you forgive the sins of any they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” Verse 23.

In 2010, Sister Sandra Marie Schneiders, professor at the Jesuit School of Theology presented a fascinating insight to a group of scholars on this verse 23.

The idea was that we’ve inserted and assumed a word into our  English translation of vs. 23, and it changes everything:  Schneiders points out that in the Greek, there is no word “sins” the second half.  So an alternative, perhaps more accurate translation would be, “If you forgive the sins of any they are forgiven; if you retain any — or ‘hold any fast’, or even ‘embrace any‘ — they are held fast/embraced.”  The second half of verse 23 is about retaining/holding onto people...rather than sins.  The word “sins” is not there in the Greek!

This, she argues — along with Lutheran scholar, the Rev. Dr. Mary Hinkle Shore — that there is not only room for Thomas’ needing proof, it’s far more in line with Jesus’ actions and the over-arching theology of the entire Gospel of John.  “Retaining sins”, holding one’s sin over their head, doesn’t really fit with John’s Gospel, especially with all this peace-breathing that’s happening both before and namely after the resurrection.
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This text is John’s version of the Great Commission: (In Matthew, it’s “Go ye therefore…”).  But here, in John —
“Peace be with you, as the Father has sent me, so I send you.”  Then he breathes on them, “Receive the Holy Spirit...

If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; and whoever you hold, they are held (whoever you embrace, they are embraced...whoever you love, they are loved).”  That’s Holy Spirit power!  That’s power that’s greater than Pilate and the Roman Empire.  That’s power that’s mightier than all the muscles and ammunition we can even imagine.  That’s power that’s greater than a global pandemic.  That’s power that has room to care for all creation — “whoever you hold, they are held” — that’s Holy Spirit power.  Jesus breathes this on the disciples and on us too, this April 19, 2020!

This is way more in line with John’s Gospel, than “retaining sins”.  Can’t you just hear the echoes of Jesus’ actions back through John?!!

On Good Friday, Jesus offered community to his beloved disciple and his own mother from the cross.  And so Christ’s sermon there, was to go and care for one another from this day forth, to offer beloved community to everyone, love flowing outward, from the cross.  And in the foot washing, on Maundy Thursday, Jesus offers this intimate cleansing and tangible forgiveness to us, and now we’re called, to turn and offer that same cleansing and forgiveness to each other and beyond!  First we receive it from God — that’s our being commissioned “Receive the HS” — then we in turn, and go, and share with the whole world, both physically and virtually.  And it’s all through John, the raising of Lazarus, the woman at the well, the blind man, the feeding of the 5000...all the way back to the beginning of John’s Gospel where “the light shines in the darkness,” and gives life to all people.  Whoever you hold, they are held.

Now post-resurrection — as we wade into this 50-day Easter season, basking in the peace that our Risen Savior breathes on us, even in these strange, terrible, pause-button quarantine days — here it is again:  first we receive from Christ forgiveness and embrace, then we turn and offer it to one another and to this whole world!  CHRIST IS RISEN!  He is risen indeed!!

This is the “in-deed”!  Turning and offering both forgiveness and embrace.

“Peace be with you, as the Father has sent me, so I send you.  Receive the Holy Spirit.  If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; and whoever you hold, they are held (whoever you embrace, they are embraced).”

Who is it that you’re holding?  They are held in Christ.  I’m holding you all in this time, even as we are separated.  Therefore you are held in Christ, because I’m holding you.  I’m holding all those who are sick, all those mourning the death of loved ones, I’m holding God’s creation, the animals and plants.  Therefore they are all held in Christ.  Conversely I’m held in Christ:  I know that you all have been holding me and my family in this time.  Therefore I am held in Christ!  Do you see?  Whoever we hold, God holds.  Holy Spirit power.  (Remember when Jesus said to Pilate, you have no power over me.  Now Pilate has no power over us either.  We’ve received the Holy Spirit, sisters and brothers, friends in Christ!)

Whoever we hold, they are held.  Whoever we embrace, they are embraced...

And whoever we forgive, they receive the very forgiveness of God!  That’s the embrace of the Risen Christ.  Holy Spirit power.

And how all of God’s children need that embrace and forgiveness!  How all of God’s isolated children...from our neighborhoods, from our workplaces, from our schools, from the halls of power to the hall off the living room...in every nation and every language need that embrace and peace and forgiveness that the resurrected Jesus so abundantly breathes.

Christ gives you that same breath this day, that same power to forgive and heal.  In a moment we’ll offer that peace of Christ to each other.  And the symbols are the same there too.  “Receive the Holy Spirit.”  Today is John’s Pentecost.
It isn’t just about shaking hands...which we can’t do now anyway.  Sharing the peace so much, friends: it’s war ending, walls coming down, conflicts forgiven, creation restored, animals blessed, plants blessed, cousins and neighbors blessed, death itself is destroyed! Jesus’ resurrection offers true peace.

If you’re doubting that’s really happening when we share the peace every Sunday, when we offer the peace of Christ with each other…then you’re not much different than the faithful Thomas, who just wanted to see more.

It’s so important to note that it was Thomas, actually, back in John 11:16, who urged the disciples to go on to Bethany, despite the danger: “Thomas said to his fellow-disciples, ‘Let us also go, that we may die with him.’”

Where was Thomas on that evening?
Maybe he was already out there, doing the “Sent work,” when Jesus first appeared to the disciples on Easter evening.  I mean, why wasn’t he locked behind the doors in fear?  Maybe he just wanted to see more!  Often the most active are also the most cynical.  But there’s room for that in Jesus’ embrace.
It’s hard to believe that wars end when Pam and Marie give each other a hug here at Bethlehem on a typical Sunday morning.  It’s hard to believe that walls come down when Bob and .  It’s hard to believe walls are coming down as Richard and Alison shake each other’s hands.  There’s no evidence that creation — the air and the water and the soil — is restored, as John and Donna give each other a sweet high five, as they say to each other ‘God’s peace’.  Remember that’s what’s happening when we return to Bethlehem and greet one another in the sharing of the peace.

But “Unless I can see it and touch it, I will not believe that death has been destroyed!” say the Thomas’ among us.  And there’s room for that in Christ’s embrace too.  And now, there’s room for that in our embrace as well, through the Holy Spirit, who finds us and holds us all this day...

Oh, and “blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”  AMEN.

April 12 -- Resurrection of our Lord (Easter Sunday)

They came looking, and he wasn’t there.  They’re told to go to Galilee...and the risen Jesus meets them, meets us, en route!

Grace to you and peace this Easter morning from our risen Jesus Christ who rocks the earth, appears before us en route, whose feet we grab onto, who we worship and praise, right where we are, with both great fear and joy, who raises us with him, and tells us to go to Galilee!  AMEN.

What’s this business in the text with Galilee on Easter morning?  Where is Galilee?  Jesus says I’ll meet you in Galilee. Galilee was the region (not a city or town) the area (like NoVa or the DMV or SoCal or the Hill Country or the Blue Ridge or up North or down South) it’s where Jesus and all the disciples were “from”.  Galilee is where Jesus came up, where he called the disciples, where he preached the sermon on the mount, where he fished, where he ate, and rested, and healed, and worked and played….Galilee was where they were all from...

Mary and Mary were looking for his body, dead in the tomb, but Jesus was alive and well and headed to the Galilee.
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What’s your Galilee?  Where are you from?

I don’t mean, necessarily, the town of your birth or your childhood.  That would mean Houston is my Galilee (or the fjords of Norway).  I mean more like the region of mind and heart where you’re from, where you work, where you eat, where you sleep and fish and make friends...
Where do you live?

Where’d you come from?  Go back there.  Go back to that region of mind and landscape of heart.  Go back to that place.  Be there...because...“There,” the angel says, “you will see Jesus.”  Go back to where you came from...

Go back to your basement office, back to your Zoom meetings, back to the baking tray, back to driver’s seat, back to that project you were working on, back to the keyboard, back to the yard work, back to the news headlines, back to caring for your children and parents, back to retirement, back to school; go back to where you came from.  Only now, Easter people, you will see Jesus there!  Right there in your home, right there where you’re from.

I think we’ve all come from a place of great sorrow, frustration, even incredible pain lately.  Maybe you’re coming from boredom these endless quarantine days.  Maybe you’re coming from a place of being overwhelmed.  Stress takes its toll on the body: for some, more stress than ever.
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This Easter Gospel ironically sends us back there.  The resurrection doesn’t just take all the bad stuff away.  Remember: Galilee isn’t all peaceful rolling hills; there’s lots of sorrow, grief and pain back there in Galilee!  Had some friends visit Galilee a few years ago: there’s blood shed in those valleys.  It’s a place drenched in sorrow.  But go back there, the angel says.  Don’t run from it.  Don’t ignore it or push your grief or frustration away, or bury it, or keep it locked up in the tombs of your hearts and souls.  Go back there.  Only now...[slowly] you’ll see Jesus there.  “That’s what he promised. Remember?” the angel says.

Maybe you’ve come here today from a place of loneliness…
or worry about the future or regret about the past or overwhelming anger.  Sisters and brothers, friends in Christ, Jesus has already gone ahead of us to those Galilees, and will meet us there!  So you can go back there now too.  We no longer have to hide from those things that bring us down, even those things that drive us into the grave!
Because Christ is alive, because Christ has conquered death and the grave, now we can even go there, face our Galilees, and find Christ right in the midst of them!

Those brave women in the story (interesting — that the men in the story froze, they became like dead men, scared to death) but the women followed the angel’s directions, even though they were scared too — says they were filled first with great fear and then joy.  In other words, they were humble, honest (Lent) and hopeful.  Humbly and honestly, filled with both fear and joy, go to your Galilee.

Let’s not be like the men in this story — frozen, scared to death — let’s be like the women: humble, honest and hopeful.

We go now from this Easter morning — this first sun rising of 50 days of Easter mornings, 7 weeks of the Easter season, friends! — with both fear and joy, humbly, honestly, hopefully.

Only now when you go to Galilee, you will also see Jesus there.  Jesus right in the midst of the pain, Jesus right in the midst of our worry, Jesus right in the midst of our regret or our anger.  Jesus right in the midst of what we thought was total isolation, even death.  Because of the resurrection, because he shakes the cosmos, rocks the earth and rises from the tomb, because he lives eternal, because “thine is the glory, risen conquering Son” and he has promised never to leave us, we never have to “go there” [pause] to “Galilee” alone.

The resurrection doesn’t promise a painless, sorrow-less happily ever after, just rainbows and Easter egg candy all the day long, all our earthly lives long.  No, what the resurrection of Jesus Christ means is that we never have to go through all that alone...even and especially death itself.

And we never have to consider ourselves unloved or unforgivable ever again.
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Let’s go share that Good News with our lives!  The angel and Jesus don’t just tell the women to go to Galilee: they both add another command: “go...and tell”!  How about we share this Good News too, not just make it our little secret (shhh...Jesus Christ is risen, and we never have to go it alone again, but don’t tell anyone.)  No, our lives now tell the story — that Jesus through his life, death and resurrection gives us, all of us, forgiveness without end, love and hope with out boundaries, mercy overflowing, peace beyond all human understanding, life abundant and joy...even and especially now, amid a global pandemic, pain and fear and sorrow all around, death on our doorstep perhaps now more than ever — and still we sing:

“Al-le-luya, Christ is arisen! Bright is the dawning of the Lord’s day: (love v3) Gather disciples in the *evening* suddenly Christ your Lord appears: ‘Look it is I, your wounded Savior. Peace be with you and do not fear.”

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Parker Palmer in his book Let Your Life Speak has a chapter entitled “Back to the World” where he talks about leadership not as egocentric and immodest, loud out front, self-serving leadership but rather...leadership = being who God has made you to be.  He says: “If it is true that we are made for community, then leadership is everyone’s vocation...even I,” he writes, “a person unfit to be president of anything...have come to understand that for better or worse, I lead by word and deed simply because I am here doing what I do.  If you are also here, doing what you do, then you also exercise leadership.”  Let your life speak.

Go back to Galilee...and tell everyone “Christ is risen” with your life, with your words and deeds, with your being who God has made you to be.  How would you specifically say with your life, with your doing what you do, that “Christ is risen indeed”?

Go to Galilee, the angel says. There you’ll see Jesus, and, hey, tell others with your life.
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And then the surprise (it gets even better!): OK, we’re go back, got it, be who God made us, got it.  They hadn’t even started that long journey, and as they’re just starting on their way, as they are en route, Jesus meets them already and says, “Greetings!”

And the women worship him.  (That’s what we’re doing this morning.)  Here in this place Jesus is finding us en route, on our way back to our Galilees!

I want to ask you to write about and talk at the dinner table or post your answer to this question (take some time with it this week, this new, 7-week season of Easter)

“Where in your Galilee did you see the risen Christ today?”
Write that somewhere in your house.  Answer that every day.
Where did Jesus interrupt you en route?...and say ‘Greetings!’

Friends, with both fear and joy, I proclaim to you that Jesus is with us, through thick and thin.  It’s interesting: only in Luke’s Gospel does Jesus ascend at the end, up into the clouds.  All the other Gospels, Jesus never leaves the earth...Jesus stays right here.  And today in Matthew, Jesus keeps his feet planted firmly on the ground, and specifically in “Galilee”.  I love that scene of the women grabbing his feet and worshiping him, worshipping Jesus, grabbing onto to his firmly earth-planted feet, not lifting up into the clouds, and no longer elevated and nailed to a cross, Jesus is down here with them, us, you.

And sisters and brothers, friends in Christ, Jesus has also gone ahead of us, not ahead, up, up into the clouds, but ahead, across the land into the Galilees of our every day lives.
The Gospel gets local.  Jesus who is named Emmanuel, which means God-with-us at the very beginning of the Gospel of Matthew, stays true to his name in the very last chapter, where he says, in Galilee, “Lo, I am with you always even to the end of the age.”

Christ is alive, and the the only place he’s going now is right back into our realities, right back into our everyday lives, right back to Galilee.  Alleluia!  Amen.

April 5 -- Palm Sunday

Grace to you and peace from Jesus — who enters through our gates in peace, who comes into our cities...and into our homes, who makes our living rooms and kitchens and bedrooms a sanctuary, a place of peace and holiness.  Amen.

Friends in Christ, I continue to find myself thinking and saying “now more than ever”...as these unprecedented, uncharted, unnerving days roll by, and as we prepare for the days ahead:  “Now more than ever.”

Now more than ever, we are sharing in a collective, communal gratitude and grief:
Gratitude for all the blessings that sometimes maybe we once took for granted.  Blessings of family and friends..  The blessings of art and music, entertainment and comedians.  The blessings of science...and technology.  The blessings of nature, and all the beauty outside...wherever we live.  Now more than ever.  The blessings of food and farmers who grow our food, and truck drivers who deliver our food, the blessings of cooks and grocery clerks.  The blessings of mail deliverers.  The blessings of teachers, who educate our children.  The blessings of health and blessings of health care professionals...the list really could go on and on.  Anyone keeping a gratitude journal during this time?  Now more than ever.

And, now more than ever we are sharing in a collective, communal grief (OK to hold gratitude and grief together, not one or the other):  for all that’s been lost:  all that’s been cancelled, all the trips and events, all the sports and theatre, graduations ceremonies and concerts and vacations and on-site learning opportunities.  Just dinners with friends and family.  This list could go on and on too.  Now more than ever.

And here we are today, at the beginning of Holy Week, the highest, most holy and theologically central days in our Christian year and faith.  And here we all are at home: I think there’s grief and gratitude there too...

I don’t think I need to spell out the sad stuff of not being together at the church building, but one of the gratitudes, is the chance to PONDER the story of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem today...and his Last Supper, his command that we love one another, his trial, torture, death, burial and finally his resurrection.  Perhaps we can ponder these...now more than ever.  Perhaps we can pray and study and think….NMTE.

I spent some time early this morning looking at arial footage on YouTube of the ancient road from Jericho to Jerusalem, which goes right through Bethphage, past the Mount of Olives, down into the Kidron Valley and then finally up into the city gates of Jerusalem.  [Posted.]  And I found myself pondering—unlike previous years, honestly—the dry, desert dangers, especially this last leg of Jesus journey from Galilee, the road from Jericho to Jerusalem.  I’ve never been there, but I felt like I went this morning...technological blessings, right?

The relief Jesus and his disciples must have felt when they got to that room in Bethphage: a cool shelter and a place to rest, after being exposed to the harsh elements all day.  Thirsty just watching.  I found myself pondering Jesus looking out over Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives, before descending into the Kidron Valley and up to the city walls, knowing what was coming for him in just a few days.

I spent some time this week, even pondering donkeys (Jesus rides in on a donkey)!  Here’s what I learned about donkeys: They’re not dumb, as they’re often described popularly.  Mules are stubborn, as the saying goes, but their stubbornness is all in an effort to protect… themselves and their families, their colts.  They’ve been used as pack animals and even for riding for the more treacherous trails, like at the Grand Canyon, because they’re trustworthy to make better decisions than even horses about keeping you and your things safe.  That’s the stubbornness!  It’s about safety…(or salvation?)  

And did you know this about donkeys?!  Once they’ve bonded to a herd of sheep or cattle or goats or even people, during they night they will bray out a warning to the herd when the donkey senses danger, and then the donkey will even chase down and trample the threat.  They are fierce!  (Shrek :)

OK,  I hope these extra colors to the story I’m offering, add a little more to your pondering this Holy Week.  

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It’s like this unprecedented time that we’re in is a chance for each of us to climb up, into our own isolated tower.  And here, we could keep the curtains shut...or we could ponder, we could let the light stream in and gaze at the great, colorful landscape, see a far greater view than that view we normally see from down in the midst of our busy streets and stores and schools.  I’m not trying to do a silver lining thing.  It’s just a fact, we’re isolated, towered up, right now, and we’ve got an opportunity to “ponder out the window” at the diverse vista — to see, to take in all the gratitude and all the grief.  ‘Overwhelming’ is the word I keep hearing/using these days.

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And here’s what Jesus offers this Palm Sunday, as we look out:
Presence - he comes through our gates, meets you in your moment.  Did you get that?  Jesus comes to you—not the other way around.  Jesus shows up where you are.  Christ traverses the harsh, dangerous roads to come alongside you.  Now more than ever.
Humility - he takes the form of a janitor, someone who cleans the bathroom, exposing himself to germs, and doesn’t get paid enough.  Read Philippians again.
Gentleness - in a season where many are not gentle:  words are cruel, actions are selfish.  People grabbing for themselves.  Hoarding.   Rushing to beat everyone else out and to the last ...whatever...on the shelf or on Amazon, Jesus rides into town on a donkey.  And offers gentleness.  Last year, I got a lot more into this as I contrasted Jesus and Divine Peace with Pilate and the Peace of Rome, which of course wasn’t peace at all: it was peace through force and military intimidation.  Bullying on a geo-political scale.  But Jesus offers us God’s peace, gentleness.  And rest.  Now more than ever.
And finally friends in Christ, and a the heart, Jesus offers us salvation.  The people cried out Hosanna, “Lord, save us.”  I don’t think, Hosanna has ever shouldered more meaning and timeliness, NMTE.  Jesus, save us, from the oppression and pain under which we find ourselves.  Save us from the fear and the sickness and the fatigue and the isolation.  Save us, Lord.  Come to our aid!
And, friends — I don’t offer this lightly —
Christ. Does. Save. Us.

That’s what this Holy Week journey, this journey to the cross, this pondering, is all about.  Christ does save us.  Jesus answers our ‘hosannas’.  It might not be what we expected...
...and we have an opportunity this week to ponder from the vista, to take the long overwhelming view, to see and hold it all together.  The pain and the promise.  The horror and the hope.  The loss and the life abundant that is ours, even today.
Jesus meets you now.  Christ embraces you, even when no one else can.  And saves us and this whole world, in love, in peace.  Now more than ever.   Amen.

March 29 -- Fifth Sunday in Lent

Grace to you and peace from Jesus Christ, who raises the dead. Amen.

What strikes me about this text this time around — we’ve seen this before and there’s so much here — but what strikes me now, is that Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life” not at the end, after Lazarus is all raised and showered and fresh and alive, but when death is stinking and things are at their worst.  

There’s a scene right at the beginning of the next chapter where Jesus is actually sitting at a banquet table with Lazarus and Mary and Martha.  Everyone’s together, food is being served, wine is being poured.  You can easily imagine the good smells and the hearty laughter at the table one chapter past this point.  But that’s not where Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life...everyone who lives in me will never die.”  Jesus says this, at exactly the moment when Lazarus is stone cold dead, 4-stinkin’-days-dead in the tomb, when Martha comes at him in bitterness and blame: “Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died.”  (And of course, beneath the anger is always sadness and fear.)  

Friends in Christ, Jesus isn’t just with us in the banquet times — the parties, and the family feasts, and the full sanctuaries — Jesus is with us through it all.  Jesus doesn’t say “I am the resurrection and the life” at the sun-shiny glorious end: he says it right smack in the cloudy-cold-muddy middle.

And we’re in the middle now.  In the cloudy-cold-muddy middle.  Deep in the muddy valley.  Shadows and fears all around.  Slogging through our days.  Anxious and angry.  Sad and afraid.    

We’re right smack in the middle of it, these days.  In this unprecedented season of Lent, this quarantine, this Covid-19 nightmare.  We’ll never forget this time.  But, friends, we have a God who is here with us, in it.

—

And this God, this one Jesus Christ does several things with us, in the cloudy-cold-muddy middle: First of all, Jesus weeps.  

What is that about?!  Especially in the Gospel of John!?  

If you’ve been listening to my interpretations of John’s Gospel over the months, I continually find Jesus to be completely in control, cool and calm.  He loves everyone, but I haven’t seen him lose it before.  After all, Jesus is all divine.  There’s no question about that, according to John.  All these signs, all these miracles (last week: blind man...feeding 5000, walks on water) all these signs all point to his divinity.   

So what’s he cryin’ about!?  He has the power to raise Lazarus! 

If any of us had the power to raise the dead, if I had the power to raise the dead, I’d show up to your house after the  death of your loved one, and I’d be like, “Step aside everyone!  Check this out!”  I don’t think tears would be my issue.  If we had dead-raising powers, we might be serious and stoic, maybe for dramatic effect, but we’d know we had a miracle up our sleeve.  I’m being trite.  Here’s my point:

Jesus, on the other hand, weeps!  Ponder that this week, this long season of quarantine.  I think one could write a doctoral dissertation on this shortest verse in all of Scripture, especially because it’s John’s Gospel, where Jesus is all in control and calm.  I don’t have the answer as to what that’s all about, but I will say:  Jesus weeping points to Divinity also.  

This is not counted as one of the 7 signs, but I think it should be: What kind of a God cries?!  

Ours does.  Tears say, “I’m with you.”  Ever been with a friend when you were really hurting, who didn’t have an answer or any wise words, but just started crying with you?  I’ve never felt so heard, so understood, so accompanied, so embraced.  

Did you see these clips of Hoda on the “TODAY Show”?  Always so professional, so scripted and in control.  This week...after talking with Drew Brees how kindness is also contagious and both saying “We love you” to each other...she just lost it.

And that’s just a tiny glimpse of our God, who so deeply and completely hears, understands, accompanies and loves us.  Maybe that’s what those tears were about...

Christ is here, right smack in the middle of our pain, of our sorrow, of our fear, of our losses, of our anxieties and of our tears.  All this happens — not after the raising and unbinding — but before it, when things really, literally stink!  God is there, present, loving, weeping.  Never felt so embraced.

—

And then, the final sign — the raising of Lazarus is the final sign of the Gospel of John.  The whole second half of the book of John is the Passion narrative.  So this is it, and what a finale this is to (what’s been called) the Book of Signs, the first half of John’s Gospel!

Hearken back to the first sign, when Jesus turned the water to wine back in Chapter 2 of John:  Mary, who was there then and is here at the tomb of Lazarus as well (and will be at the cross), said back at the wedding, “Do whatever he tells you.”  Do you remember that?  She said this to the servants:  “Do whatever he tells you.”  

As Jesus’ seven signs unfold through John’s narrative, Jesus is always giving a command, telling his “sheep” to do something:

whether it’s “fill the jars with water,” or “take up your mat and walk,” or “gather whatever food is left over,” “go wash in the pool of Sent”...and today, “Lazarus, come out!...Unbind him and let him go!”  

Let’s heed Mary’s advice: “Do whatever Jesus tells you.”  Why?  Because when we do what Jesus tells us to do, good things happen…that is, God’s glory is revealed.  When we listen, when we trust, then we see and walk and eat and rise from the dead...and finally understand.

We’re all sheep of the Good Shepherd, remember?  And sometimes we go astray.  And God’s gonna love us and forgive us even when we fail miserably at listening, trusting, seeing and understanding Jesus (that’s the trust of Luke’s Gospel: God’s gonna hold us no matter what)…

But our life becomes abundant when we follow Mary’s advice, and “do whatever Christ tells us to do.”  Today:  Come out!

— 

Not only has Jesus given sight to the blind, health to the sick, food to the hungry, and brought a crazy-good party to the wedding feast in Cana...and to all our feasts and party days over the years, right?!  (In these isolating days, I hope you’re doing some good reflecting and giving thanks for all the blessings of family and community during these days when we’re cut off from that.  I’m going through a lot of pictures and videos of good times.)  Not only has Christ done all this, given us all this, he even raises the dead!

He even brings us through our valleys, through our losses, through our pain, definitely through our tears, through death itself, and gives us life, and life abundant...not just ventilator life, but family and friends and laughter and banquet tables.

This life is ours even now, even in the mud — not just at the Great Feast That is To Come — this “resurrection and life” is ours right now, right smack in the middle.  Right here in our valley of the shadow of death, the Shepherd is with us.  

Now that’s something worth celebrating!  That’s not just a silver lining:  That’s the center.  That’s the center of our gathering.  That’s the center of our faith.  That’s the center of our hope.  That’s the rock in a weary land.  That’s the cross.  

This life abundant, this abiding Jesus, this raising of the dead, this coming out, this rock in a weary land is yours today, 

and through this valley.

and always.

Thanks be to God.  Amen.

March 22 -- Fourth Sunday in Lent

So many ways to go here!  We’ve just eaten a banquet of grace-filled, Gospel words...not a Grubhub fast-food leave-it-on-your-doorstep delivery, but our Bible readings this and every Sunday are like a long dining hall table of every kind of food, and family of all generations and from all over the world gathered around, and we pray and feast).  But I’d like to focus on that pool where Jesus tells the blind man to wash: what that meant then, and how this speaks to each of us today.
—
First, Jesus puts mud in his eyes.  I know I’ve spoken before about that great toast that I grew up with: before clinking glasses,  “Here’s mud in your eye!”  That comes from this passage.  “Here’s to seeing things in a new and healthy way!” First Jesus puts mud in his eyes, and then he tells him to go wash off that mud...

This is the 6th sign of Jesus in the Gospel of John.  The 1st you  might remember (anyone know?) is the water-to-wine.  Next Jesus heals the royal official’s son, he heals the paralytic, he feeds the 5000, walks on water.  Then the blind man today.  Then Lazarus.)  All signs point to Jesus’ divinity.
7 signs all together in John.  And it’s no coincidence that there are also 7 days of creation, way back in Genesis.  Jesus is re-creating, re-newing, re-defining, re-freshing the whole creation in these 7 signs.  So, hear these stories and wonders of Jesus in a cosmic, universal context.  They’re always about/symbolizing much more than just one person being healed (or even 5000 being fed) a long time ago...

So today is the 6th sign, right here in the mud of “quarantine”, 40 days, Lent.  Jesus puts mud in the blind man’s eyes and then tells him to “Go wash in the Pool of Siloam (which means Sent).” Go wash in the Sending Waters.

So what does it mean to wash in the Pool of Sent?  In the Sending Bath?  Sounds like a baptismal font to me!  ;)
—
[page/scroll through your worship folder]
See the sections in the box G-W-M-S?
What’s the longest section?  Trick question: Sending...

So again, what does it mean to be washed in the Sending Waters?  In the Pool of Sent (or Siloam)?

The once-blind man’s story gives us some ideas to instruct us for the “longest part of the worship service”:

First of all, being washed in the Sending waters means being healed!  Christ heals us too!  What are your “blind spots”?  Think about that this week.  And know that Jesus puts mud in our eyes too and sends us also past the Sent Pool and out into our lives anew, re-freshed, re-created, re-defined, re-visioning!  Our gathering, even like this, even virtually, around the scripture — ancient words and prayers of Christians who have been backed into corners before — Christ is the mud in our eyes, and then as we pass by those holy waters on the way out  (why we have the font at the back) we have been made new!  Being washed means that we are healed, sisters and brothers, friends in Christ!  We are forgiven and cleaned!

Being washed in “Sent” also means being honest.  “All I know is that once I was blind but now I see.”  Here’s what I know.  Pay attention to your experience.  I feel like 9x out of 10 when a person changes their mind about something (maybe this has happened to you?), it’s not because of a new doctrine that got rammed down their throat; it’s because of an experience:

*All I know is that once I never really cared that deeply for protecting the environment, for example, but then I spent a week in the Rockies hiking and camping…
*All I know is that I was taught that gay people were bad, but then I worked next to Larry…one of the kindest people I know.
*All I know is that I always thought Christians were judgmental and insular and even cruel, and then I came to Bethlehem…

The blind man reminds us to pay attention, and be honest about our experiences, how they affect us, and how they change us.  We could remain unchanged, even with our sight restored… [pause]  But not the blind man: “All I know is that once I was blind, but now I can see.”  For the blind man, everything changes after his sight is restored.

Being washed in the Sending waters also means facing opposition and even aggression calmly.  Did you see how he did that.  He just stuck to his truth calmly, even while the inevitable opposition came on strong.  This breaks with the way it’s “supposed to be,” you see.  The blind man stays calm —and we see — faithful.  He’s not swayed by the fire and fury, the violence of the opposition.

I think that can be so instructive for us these days amid a global pandemic.  Staying calm.  Staying faithful.  Not being swept up in the fire and fury.  Here’s what I know: God is good.  Christ showers us with grace, with new ways of looking at things, with creativity as our vision is radically adjusted, and that the Holy Spirit binds us together and sends us to be hope and joy and peace and grace for one another and for this world...even if we’re doing that from quarantine, from the complicated isolation of this unprecedented, 40-day Lent.

Finally, being washed in Sent means worshipping Jesus...even while others don’t believe or “see”.  Vs. 38:  “He said, ‘Lord, I believe.’ And he worshiped him.”

On this Fourth Sunday in Lent we too fall down and worship Jesus.  We entrust ourselves to Christ’s mud touch and care and transformative healing and restoration once again.

We give thanks for all that God has done for us — we show that thanksgiving in our tithing and our offerings, and our songs of praise.  ‘Worship’ means worthy.  What is worthy of our sacrifice?  That’s the true object of our worship.  People make sacrifices and put their trust — i.e. people worship — all kinds of things.  The blind man worships Jesus…who loves us, whether we fall down, worship and recognize him or not.
Whether we see it or not.  (Sing with children, “Jesus loves me when I’m good...Jesus loves me when I’m bad…”)

But friends, that gift of new vision is ours this day.  This pool is right over there…We are bathed in those ever-flowing waters of the “Sending”.  And in that, is the peace that passes all human understanding.

That peace is ours this day, and always, in Jesus’ name.  Amen.

March 15 -- Third Sunday in Lent (virtual church)

Thoughts before worship:

Friends in Christ, grace to you and peace.

Welcome to Bethlehem — 

like the old children’s song: 

"I am the church! You are the church! We are the church together! All who follow Jesus, all around the world!  Yes, we're the church together!

"The church is not a building; the church is not a steeple;
the church is not a resting place; the church is a people."

What a strange, eerie, surreal, anxiety-inducing season this is, that the most loving thing we could do is stay away from each other, call regular gatherings of God’s people off, and stay home.

None of us thought last Sunday was our last worship together in body for some time, but here we are, and we’re all feeling our way through this…

But we are not cancelling worship.  

Still we worship, still we gather albeit not in the way and under the circumstances we ever wanted — moment to find our bulletin, find a Bible…and a bowl of water.

Offer some reflections on our faith tradition as we begin (and as you search for the bulletin at BLCLife.org)…

Friends, God promises never to leave us — Lo, I am with you always, Jesus says. 

Rome: Early Church sneaking around giving, helping and worshiping...maybe this is the new “underground” worship? 

Early Christians believed that the world was literally going to end any minute now.  Despite that, Paul and countless others urged kindness, humility, gentleness, hard work and trust in God...all in response to God's first loving us!  When everyone else was hoarding and obsessed with defending only themselves, Christians were sneaking around sharing bread and caring for the sick. 

In Martin Luther's 16th century "Treatise on The Plague," he wrote about taking care of both our neighbors and ourselves.  He allegedly proclaimed: "Even if I knew the world would end tomorrow, I'd still plant my apple tree today."  That's a resurrection statement.  What's our "resurrection statement" even in these Lenten days? 

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus told his disciples to be "wise as serpents" (10:16).  Read, study, pray, work and strive for wisdom.  Or in the words of the prophet Micah: "Do justice, love mercy and walk shrewdly with our God" (6:8).  Taking precaution and doing self-care is faithful too.     

Jesus also talked about caring for "the least of these" (Matthew 25:30).  Those on the margins will be affected the most.

Finally, the Bible says 67 times, "Do not be afraid."  Even amid terror and violence, even amid disease, persecution and despair.  We faithfully embrace this strong word again.

Let’s begin.  Using the same service.  But perhaps the ancient words hit us differently, given our current situation.

Prayers of Intercession, were adapted from our friends at Faith Lutheran in Arlington and from the ELCA website.

Sermon:

“Come and see the One who knows everything about me...and loves me anyway.”  

Last week, we heard from John’s Gospel of the conversation with a man under the cover of deep darkness, and of the grace that those moments can offer.  Today, we hear of a conversation with Jesus at the polar opposite time of day: at noon.  The sun is the highest and the hottest.  The light is the greatest.  

Last week, Jesus met a man at the center of power, at the center of temple life in the ancient Jewish world, a Pharisee, a man with a name: Nicodemus...and by night.  Today, Jesus meets a woman on the edge, on the fringe, a Samaritan, who doesn’t even worship at the temple in Jerusalem.  And her name is not even mentioned...and this is by day.

It’s a wonderful and very stark contrast from last week’s Gospel to this week’s.  Christ is in both places...and all places.  And always “staying” (abiding)!  

Honesty is a powerful theme in these Chapters 3 & 4 of John.  Jesus’ conversation today with the Samaritan woman draws us right into this theme and others: honesty, changing of ways, even beliefs, place of worship, letting go and moving out...

--

The woman at the well has, for years, been assumed to be a prostitute or a harlot, even as we have no concrete evidence that this is the case.  Some have assumed that since she has had 5 husbands, that it must be her fault and she gets around.  But in recent years, many scholars and theologians have wondered and asserted differently.  Maybe she’s lost 5 husbands, to disease or war.  Or, in that day in age, a man could permissibly divorce and literally throw his wife out for just about any reason...often for not bearing children.  

And being cast out, especially again and again, made a woman ritually unclean to the whole community.  One scholar was even so bold as to state: “Jesus is not slut-shaming this woman, so let’s not ever understand this passage in that way again.  She doesn’t disgust us; she inspires us with her witness in bringing her whole community out to meet this Jesus.”  

...but it starts with her being an outcast.  That’s why she’s at the well by herself, at the least favorable time of day.  If we had to draw water from wells in the Middle East, we’d probably all want to go in the morning or the evening when it was cooler.  She’s been cast out of the comfortable times and circles of people.  She’s been relegated to noon-time.

And this woman was hurting.  No question.  She could have been grieving, she could have been physically battered and bruised.  And even if promiscuity or a certain sexual recklessness was part of her story — which many of us can relate to today, that is, being careless and hurtful to our own bodies and others) — even if it was that, well, she no doubt had a painful story.  And she no doubt was living afraid.

She was “at the edge”.  A nameless woman, a Samaritan, and divorced and chewed up -- the imagery of “other” couldn’t be more blunt for the first hearers of John’s Gospel.  It always helps, when we’re talking about Samaritans, to think of who your Samaritan is today...in other words who makes your blood boil -- who is it that you can’t stomach…

it’s always helpful when we talk about Samaritans to draw our own lines, honestly (and deeply personally), and remember that Jesus is always there on the other side too, on the other side of the divisions that we make among ourselves...talking with the 5x-divorced, Samaritan woman.  

--

And the site of this extra-ordinary meeting is this ancient well, Jacob’s well, a place still supplying water, just as it did centuries ago for Jacob and his flocks!  Since the 4^th century this has been one of the KEY baptismal texts for Christians.  Many baptismal fonts in Europe and the Middle East, Northern Africa (and in some of our churches too) are designed to resemble a well.  There is still water coming from the well: this is the place where Jesus meets us.  There is still water coming from the well.

Jesus reaches out to this woman—and to all who are on the outside and hurting, all whose histories are messy and painful—and Christ offers healing, peace, truth and love.

“Come and see the One who knows everything about me...and loves me anyway!” she proclaims.

Just as there is grace in the darkness—as we were reminded last week—there is incredible grace and hope in bringing things to light...in bringing our stuff out into the open before Christ.  

It starts in the dark, down deep in the soil, as the Spirit nudges us and stirs us, to be honest, and what a catharsis when it comes out.  Growth happens.  A new chapter begins — letting go of the past, moving outward into God’s future.  Out of the deep, peaceful darkness (Nicodemus) certain things come to light (the woman at the well).  Ah, the Gospel of John is rich!

Every Sunday (Luther even encourages daily) we offer our confession, splashed by the well waters of eternal life, and receive God’s mercy.  It’s like “we’ve had 5 husbands.” We confess not just our sin but also our pain and sorrow: “Lord, we are grieving and hurting and scared and anxious; call us back to you.  We’ve had 5 husbands.  

Forgive us for what we’ve done wrong — for the things for which we must take responsibility.  Comfort us in our pain and sorrow and fear — in the things over which we have no control.  Draw us to you, as you point us back out (not inward) to be your people to the strange and the strangers.”

--

And, I’ve just gotta point out and love the scene of Jesus talking with a person who is so vastly different.  (My Grandpa Hanske’s like this — he loves just chatting with strangers, and he’s genuinely interested.)  Jesus meets and talks in the midst of difference... consider as you’re interacting online this week.

--

Finally, final movement of the story: this woman goes back to her community from whom she’s estranged, and in a twist, actually leads them out!  She goes and opens their eyes to see in a new way. 

Our call here, our vocation, is to be like this woman at the well.  We meet Jesus in worship, in this unlikely place, in this unimaginable situation, at this water well, and then we go and call others, “Come and see the One who knows everything about me...and loves me anyway!”

There is still water coming from the well.  Forgiveness, new life, hope for a broken world.  Living water gushes and cleanses us now and nourishes us for faithfulness in the days ahead.  Jesus meets us and sees us plainly again this day, all our faults and blemishes, all our pains and sorrows, clear in the light of this day...and loves us anyway.  

Now that’s worth re-posting, that’s worth sharing!  Thanks be to God.  Amen.   

Prayers of intercession:

As we gather together and separately in our homes, let us pray for the church, the earth, the world, and all in need, responding to each petition with the words “Your mercy is great.”

Gathered in the mystery of our baptism, O God, we pray 

for Christians around the globe keeping Lent 

for Christians who must stop holding on-site services, 

for all church-sponsored hospitals and clinics 

for our congregation

...

Hear us, faithful God: 

Your mercy is great

. 

Facing global climate change, we pray 

for animals and plants with threatened habitats 

for waters that are polluted 

for areas that suffer from climate-based drought

...

Hear us, creator God: 

Your mercy is great. 

Facing violence throughout the world, we pray 

for the United Nations and all efforts toward world peace 

for all who serve in their nation’s armed forces 

for the people of Venezuela, 

Syria, Afghanistan, and Yemen 

for those maimed by war and terrorism 

for displaced families and all refugees

for traumatized children

...

Hear us, sovereign God: 

Your mercy is great. 

Facing the coronavirus, we pray 

for the thousands who have contracted the virus

for those who anxiously await test results

for all who are quarantined or stranded away from home 

for those who have lost their employment 

for those who are fearful 

for children who have no school 

for health professionals

who tirelessly work to care for others

for medical researchers 

for the CDC and World Health Organization 

for adequate and wise governmental policies

...

Hear us, benevolent God: 

Your mercy is great. 

Remembering all the sick, we pray 

for all who today will die 

for those who are hospitalized 

for those who have no access to medical care 

for those whom we remember before you now: 

Hear us, compassionate God: 

Your mercy is great. 

God of living water, mend the hearts of those who grieve broken relationships, whether by conflict, abuse, divorce, or death. Draw near to all who are afraid. Assure those questioning your presence in the midst of doubt or suffering. 

Hear us, O God.

Your mercy is great.

God of living water, renew us in the promises of baptism. Join us together in worship, fellowship, and sharing your good news. Embolden us—even now—to serve others and to work for justice and peace. 

Hear us, O God.

Your mercy is great.

God of living water, we thank you for those who endured suffering and who now boast in your eternal glory.

We offer our thanks for the lives of those who have died.  As they abide in your everlasting arms, may your comfort and peace be upon all who grieve.  Pour your Holy Spirit into our hearts and give us peace as we live in the hope of our salvation. 

Hear us, O God.

Your mercy is great.

We offer the prayers of our hearts to you (and feel free to post prayer requests):

Hear us, loving God: 

Your mercy is great. 

Into your hands, God of loving might, we commend all for whom we pray, trusting in your mercy, through your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. 

Amen