Fearless!

Easter Sunday, 24 April 2011

Matthew 28:1-10

               

                This is the day that the Lord has made, we will rejoice and be glad in it. And a beautiful morning it is. New life blooms where hopes lie buried, in fact as well as figuratively. Those crocus bulbs we planted in the fall have bloomed and blown, and hyacinth are emerging, and daffodils and tulips soon to come. It is a festival of spring, new life emerging.

                Jesus went to Jerusalem to celebrate the spring festival with his disciples-- the spring festival of Passover, which is also a festival of new life. We were once slaves in Egypt, and God brought us out with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, and led us across the Red Sea waters, and through the wilderness, and brought us across the flowing Jordan, to the promised land. The festival of Passover and the festival of the Resurrection, Easter, are both about the power of God to raise a people up, from death to life.

Jesus went to Jerusalem for the Passover, a celebration of freedom for a people who were, at the time, not so free as their oppressors would like them to imagine. Yes, they were in their promised land, the land that was given to their ancestors, but it wasn’t theirs anymore. It was an outpost of the Empire, and the people were, in a sense, exiles in their own land.

The good news of Jesus, according to Matthew, began with an angel’s announcement. “Do not be afraid.” Do not be afraid, Joseph, to take Mary as your wife, because the child she will bear will be Emmanuel, God-with-us.” Here we are in the final chapter of the gospel according to Matthew, and it ends as it began: Do not be afraid!

                Do not be afraid, the angel said to the women at the tomb. Do not be afraid when the earth quakes. Do not be afraid when the tomb is empty. Do not be afraid, because God is doing what God always does, making a way out of no way, bringing freedom to the oppressed, and courage to people who seem to have the least reason to be courageous.

                Look at the contrast between the women at the tomb, and the armed guards at the tomb. For fear of them, the guards shook and became like dead men. The angel’s message brought courage to women, and brought the brut squad to their knees. Beautiful!

                And then Jesus appeared to the women with the same message, a command, “Do not be afraid!” Fear is for Herod, who was frightened, and all of Jerusalem with him, when he heard of Jesus birth. Fear is for religious authorities who would have arrested Jesus sooner, but for their fear of the crowds who followed him. Fear is for the mighty. You, who follow Jesus, do not fear!

                Between the first and last chapters of Matthew’s gospel, between the beginning and the end of the story, Jesus said it over and over again. Do not be afraid for what you will eat or what you will wear. Do not be afraid when people mock you and slander you. Be not afraid!

                Jesus was repeating the lessons he learned as a student of the Hebrew scriptures: Do not fear, is what the Israelites learned in the wilderness, when God provided bread from heaven. Do not fear, Joseph learned when he was sold into slavery in Egypt. Do not fear, is what God said to David when he was hiding from Saul and to Elijah when he was hiding from Ahab. Do not fear the terror of the night, or the arrow that flies by day. Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by your name, you are mine. The message circles round through the scriptures.

Do not be afraid. Unless you are Herod. If you are a Herod, be afraid, be very afraid. Do not be afraid, unless you are Pharaoh. If you are a Pharaoh, be afraid, be very afraid, for God has promised to come with justice for the oppressed.

Though you may feel like a slave, though you may feel like you are trying to make bricks without any straw, do not be afraid.

Though you may feel like an exile in your own land, do not be afraid.

Though you may feel you have no strength, and no voice, do not be afraid.

In Jesus, God has come to us as a slave, and an exile. In Jesus, God seemed to have been silenced and beaten. The power of God and the mercy of God and the hope of God’s people seemed to have died on the cross with Jesus. End of story.

But that was not the end of the story.

On that Easter morning, our story begins again, as it first began, “Do not be afraid. God is with us.” Emmanuel—God is with us, even to the end of the age.

This is the resurrection experience: the courage to live without fear.

Say it with me, Christ is risen. CHRIST IS RISEN. Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia! Amen.

The Last Week

Palm Sunday, 17 April 2011

                Palm Sunday is sometimes called the “little Easter.” This week we shout “Hosanna!” as if rehearsing for next week’s “Halleluiah!” But between that triumphal entry on one Sunday, and the resurrection the next, was a week in Jerusalem, Jesus’ last week. It was a descent into hell on earth for those who loved him, because they witnessed the betrayal and arrest, the torture and the execution of their beloved Jesus. He was someone’s son, and someone’s brother, and somebody’s friend, and somebody’s mentor.

                Most of us skip that part. We do, we skip the formal observances of Holy Week, because we are busy with other things and, frankly, because they are real downers. We are, culturally speaking, a people who prefer to accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative. Palm Sunday and Easter feel good. Maundy Thursday and Good Friday feel bad. So, we skip it. Advance to Go, collect $200, avoid paying rent on Boardwalk. We can do that.

                The liturgy of Holy Week may not fit our optimistic Hollywood USA version of life, but the liturgy of Holy Week is actually more like real life than perhaps we care to admit. And I believe that reenacting the whole week, in the liturgy of the church, year after year, can strengthen our spiritual muscles for the suffering that is a natural part of life.

                There is so much pain and suffering. I know, because sharing the sorrow is part of my job. In addition to celebrating family weddings and baptisms, I have the privilege of sharing in the intimacies of disappointment, sickness, and grief. I’m not complaining—it is a big, full life. That’s why I call it a privilege, it is. By virtue of office, I get to be part of the family in all the big moments of life: joys and sorrows. And that is my point. Life is not just made up of a series of peak experiences. There are valleys. Sometimes they seem like bottomless chasms, but they inevitably level out and begin to rise again. That’s life. That’s what ages of experience has taught us. And every religious system in the world has some way of coming to terms with suffering-- in Christianity, it is the incarnation of God.

                In our United Church of Christ statement of faith, one of the most meaningful lines for me is “In Jesus Christ, the man of Nazareth, God has come to us, and shared our common lot.” That means there is nothing we experience that God has not experienced. God knows from experience our ecstasies and our agonies. God knows what it’s like to be a child and pick wildflowers for mom, because Jesus did that. God knows what it’s like to hit your thumb with a mallet, because Jesus probably did that too. God knows what it’s like when people tell you that you are their savior, because God experienced that through Jesus. And God knows what it’s like to be run out of town, because Jesus experienced that too.

                God knows intimately what it is to be betrayed by someone you loved. God knows what’s it’s like to be in prison, because Jesus was there. God knows what it’s like to be beaten, because Jesus was there. And God knows death.

                Why did Jesus die? Because he was fully human. Because that is the way life is. There is a beginning and an ending. That’s the way all our stories go.

                Some stories seem to end way too soon. Like Jesus’ story.

                But for me, the life of Jesus sanctifies my suffering. Through the Jesus story, God takes my suffering and makes it holy. Through the Jesus story, the endurance of suffering becomes a spiritual virtue, that shapes our future and redeems our past.

                Through the life, suffering and death, and resurrection of Jesus I know that suffering is not all there is, that there is always a resurrection, a rising up.

                May the remembrance of Christ’s suffering strengthen us all in faith and hope, that our hearts may rise up in joy. Amen.

The Jesus Experience: I Was a Dead Man. And Now I'm Alive.

Fifth Sunday in Lent, April 10, 2011

John 11:1-45

                Kathleen Norris tells a story in Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith:

                [Here I read an excerpt from pp. 18-22. Too much to reprint here, but to summarize, it’s the true story about a small town cowboy whose life goes off the rails. Only when he found himself in a car with a murderer, did he realize that he was on the wrong road. He had only just come home to work out what to do next, when he told the author this story. “And that is salvation,” Norris wrote, “or at least the beginning of it.”]

….

                And in Have a Little Faith, Mitch Albom tells the story of Henry Covington, a man whose life journey took him from his childhood in Brooklyn to dealing drugs in Detroit, through reform and recovery, and then a new life, as pastor of a poor congregation which met in an old church building with a leaky roof. The congregation, despite its poverty, housed the homeless, fed the hungry, and tried to bring the dead drunk back to life.

                How many of us know the living dead? How many of us have grieved for brothers or sisters, friends or relations, who have become dead to the world, cut off from the land of the living by addiction to drugs, alcohol, gambling or the thrill of crime? People who were our childhood companions, whose life took a strange turn, who are unreachable, dead to us?

                For some folks like Henry Covington, the Jesus experience is like coming back from the dead. Returning from a hell on earth, given a second chance at life. It is possible that our brothers and sisters will rise again, in this lifetime.

                It isn’t easy to make that journey. A man doesn’t go from prison to the pastorate overnight. There are many steps from the grave to the arms of family. Many metaphorical stones to roll away.

                When brother Lazarus comes out, where will we be?

                I have heard recently from a local counselor who works with recovering addicts, some of whom have been released from prison on parole. Employment is a condition of parole. If a person cannot find a job, it is back to the tomb of prison. When unemployment is near 15%, who hires the parolee?

                Lazarus had his sisters, his sisters had their friends, who congregated outside the tomb. Who will be there for the next Lazarus?

                Let us contemplate what the Holy Spirit is saying to the church.

The Jesus Experience: Like Opening Your Eyes for the Very First Time

4^th Sunday in Lent, 3 April 2011

Text: John 9

                I can remember the first time the letters on a page became words. In first grade, Mrs. Landon’s class. The words were “jump, Jane.” Jump Jane, jump! Woo-hoo! I was reading! And after than moment, I understood that letters were not just letters, that they all made words and meant something. From the back seat of the car I read signs. “Gas. Food. Eat at Maid Rite.” And I remember thinking how odd it was that I couldn’t really remember what it was like not to read. I mean, just a few weeks earlier I had passed the same stores and gas stations and had no idea what I was missing!

                For some people, that is the Jesus experience. It is like opening your eyes for the first time, and seeing things you had never seen before: the earth, the sky, your mother’s face. A whole new world appears before you. It is wonderful! And then, things get complicated.

                In yesterday’s daily devotional, Tony Robinson commented on how, to hear some people tell it, the Jesus experience changes life only for the better. To hear some people tell it, the Jesus experience comes with tangible benefits: “Jesus came into my life and now our business is great, my husband and I are super in love, and my son is getting straight A’s.”

                If that’s your story, good for you. But meeting Jesus doesn’t always mean that life gets materially better. Sometimes, Jesus comes into our lives uninvited, and brings chaos. As in today’s gospel story.

                The blind man had his place in the community. He used to sit and beg. His neighbors pitied him, his parents looked after him, did best they could. But then the disciples of Jesus came by, and drew Jesus’ attention to the man. Though the blind beggar never asked anything of Jesus, Jesus muddied the man’s face and then told him to go and wash; and he did, and then he could see. It must have been amazing! What joy! What a wonder! But, not for long.

                Forced to tell his story over and over again, hauled from pillar to post as people argued over him, he was accused of being a fraud. Denied by neighbors, barely acknowledged by his parents, and then cast out of his congregation-- he was hardly a success story.

                And Jesus is mostly absent from this story. Jesus is the cameo appearance, at the beginning and the end. In the middle, the man formerly known as the blind beggar is on his own.

                Isn’t that the case for most of us? Moments of enlightenment come and go, and in between, we struggle to live this new life. We want others to understand, but as hard as we try, some people just don’t get it. They don’t see what we see.

Those in authority are particularly threatened by a sighted population. As long as we blindly accept our given place in the world, as the beggar, as the baby, as the drone or the worker, then all is peaceful. Not good maybe, but calm. But when we are given the sight to see that the powerful of this world stand on our backs, and count on us to remain blind to our own enslavement, then the very foundations of the world begin to shake. If we dare to rise up to claim our freedom, we become the outcast.

                And that is where Jesus finds us. Jesus seeks us out and searches for us. We know Jesus’ story: we know that Jesus is no stranger to abandonment, betrayal, and denial. What we see at the end is the promise of God, given through the prophet Isaiah:

Can a woman forget her nursing child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. (49:15)

The Jesus experience. Once our eyes are opened, we will never not see again. That may not make us popular, but, we are promised, we will never be alone. We are part of a family now that reaches back into history and forward to the reign of God. Thanks be to God. Amen.