The Rev. Demery Bader-Saye
Missioner for Youth, the Diocese of Bethlehem
April 23, 2006
Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 133; 1 John 1:1-2:2; John 20:19-31
Alleluia! The Lord is Risen! The Lord is risen indeed - Alleluia! Happy Easter, my sisters and brothers in Christ! What a joy it is to be with you today. I bring you greetings from your bishop and the whole diocesan staff.
It is Easter from now until Pentecost Sunday. We are in the midst of an Easter celebration, reveling in the news that our Lord is risen, healed and whole, gentle and victorious, humble and glorious. As it is written in the Song of Solomon, “for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.”
The prophecy of Gandalf from J.R.R. Tolkein’s allegory to the Christian faith, The Fellowship of the Ring has been fulfilled in the rising of Jesus from the tomb:
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire [has been] woken,
A light from the shadows [does] spring;
Renewed [is the] blade that was broken,
The crownless again [is the] king!
And in the proclamation of our story of our faith, we hear that the word of the resurrection is moving full throttle through Jerusalem. The band of brothers, the followers of Christ in the fellowship of the cross are – depsite threats and opposition from their enemy -- preaching the radically good news of Jesus Christ with power and zeal throughout the region of Jerusalem. They are sheperding a congregation of hundreds, even thousands of believers which is in and of itself, a miracle – and the whole body of believers, Luke writes in this fourth chapter of Acts, are of “one heart and soul.” In the power of the Holy Spirit, everything is coming together for this new community in Christ. No one in the congregation of the early church is bent out of shape (yet), or complaining, or vying for power. Everyone is pulling his or her weight. No one is hungry or thirsty or homeless, for they hold everything in common – they share all of their possessions and from that collective wealth, not one financial need goes unfulfilled. They are living out the covenant that they made on the miraculous day of their baptism, the ancient covenant that Christians to this very day make each and every time we baptize someone new into the life of Christ – a covenant to care for one another tenderly as family and to work as partners with God to bring about the kingdom of God on the earth God loves with such passion. The Acts community of believers here understand that in the fellowship of Christ everyone bears with joy, with willingness, the responsibility to care for the needs, to share the hopes, to encourage the dreams of everyone else and the responsibility to reach out to those in need.
Sometimes life in Christ is like that. Miracles happen left and right. People are fed. Faith flourishes. Enemies are kept at bay. Sometimes it all comes together. And sometimes it doesn’t, even if all the ingredients seem to be there.
Take for instance, the bean and lentil soup fiasco that happened to me and some friends of mine just a few weeks ago. We’re in an emerging church community called Peacemeal (www.peacemealcommunity.blogspot.com) which meets on Friday nights in my living room in Clarks Summit. Feeling pretty fired up during lent, we decided that we wanted to perform an act of love - to follow Jesus in the way of the cross. We were going to feed the homeless and working poor of Scranton. We called a local soup kitchen, which serves a lunch meal every day at noon for some advice. They estimated that they serve as many as 225 hungry people each day in Scranton. So we shopped, and we chopped and we made -- just to be safe – 300 servings of bean and lentil soup. And we bought 250 apples and 5 big sheets of brownies and vanilla pound cake. All week long it felt like Christmas! What kind of gifts would the day bring? Who would see the love of Christ in our eyes? In whose weary eyes would we see the love of Christ? The dinner was to start at 5:00. We’d imagined that it would take us a full hour and a half to move everyone through the line. But by 5:30 we had served everyone who was to eat that night. Did you ever notice the McDonald’s sign down the road – what is it now, over 200 billion served or something like that? Well, if Peacemeal were to have a sign it would be a little more humbling. It would read “over 20 served.”
Sometimes even when people try to live with the same power and zeal as the early church, it just doesn’t come together. A friend of ours from North Carolina tells of a time in his life when he, his wife and a group of enthusiastic believers decided to purchase a big house and live together there in community, praying together, eating together, holding all things in common. It went gloriously well for a time, but in the end, inevitably, tensions mounted and the community disintegrated over something so small as how many ounces of orange juice each person was allowed to drink each morning, or whose turn it was to take out the garbage. Living the life of the fellowship of Christ is not easy.
Even the disciples and all of those new believers did not live out the perfection of the few verses we read today for very long... In the verses that immediately follow Ananias and his wife Saphira decide to hold just a little money back for themselves. They lie to the disciples and fall over dead when confronted with their deception. There were arguments between and among the disciples about how to spread the message, about who needed to hear the story of Christ. The horrible persecution of those who followed Jesus grew heavier. More and more often the hand of the “predator” reached into the community and plucked up a believer, who was stoned or crucified and eventually even thrown to the lions. The persecution became so strong that the believers couldn’t live together or even be seen together because it was too dangerous. Many fell away and be came apostates, denying that they believed in the risen Christ. It was just too risky.
But a faithful remnant remained who wouldn’t give up. And because of them we sit here today. Because of them the radically good news of the risen Christ has reached into most every corner of the earth. And there are, in a good many places, at least outposts of peace and generosity and love which serve as places of renewal for the followers of Christ who continue to try. Who try to go out into the world to do the work God has given them to do, to love and serve God with gladness and singleness of heart. In another word of encouragement from Tolkein’s Fellowship of the Ring, we read:
The road must be trod, but it will be very hard. And neither strength nor wisdom will carry us far upon it. This quest may be attempted by the weak with as much hope as the strong. Yet such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere.
The wheels of the world are turning. The kingdom of God is here - it is coming. Miraculous Acts 4 kind of moments don’t always come together. But we keep on sharing with those in need. We are faithful just one more day, to whomever our community may be – to our spouse, to our family, to our friends, to our church, and we try not to argue over orange juice. And then a day turns into a year, which turns into a week, which turns into a month, which turns into a lifetime of faithfulness. We continue to live out that baptismal covenant asking our parish where we are needed -- how we can live out the promise we make at each one’s baptism to encourage that one’s growth in faith. We keep on feeding hungry people until 20 turns to 200 and 200 turns to 2 million and 2 million turns into 200 billion, until 200 turns into “Everyone has been served!” And over time like a pebble covered with snow rolling down a big hill, momentum increases, power multiplies, people gather, the Holy Spirit stirs up hearts and minds and you find yourself in the midst of a revolution, part of the misseo dei - the mission of God – the magnificent kingdom of God which even now burgeons not only “up there” in heaven, or in some dimension just beyond the veil of our understanding -- but here and now in this big broken, hurting world that God loves so much – sometimes it all comes together!
Until the day when it all comes together for good, we enjoy those delightful “Acts community moments” when we get a glimpse of that powerful kingdom – like the moments that happen sometimes at youth events. As someone who works with youth a lot, I am blessed to see many such moments, like when the teen rector of Happening kneels down to wash the feet of his or her friends. Like the joy that I hope will come next week at Christophany as youth discover more about the risen Jesus.
Not long ago on a mission trip with my youth group from Church of Epiphany we had an extended Acts community moment – for ten days in Central America we held all things in common, we served the poor, and we worshiped and ate together and sang together and played together. It happens for the Cathedral, too. Last summer Elizabeth Yale, one of your youth parishioners sat beside me on the way to the Episcopal Youth Event, and she told me about her J2A pilgrimage, the wondrous trip her class took to Northern California - of trips through the Redwood Forest, innovative worship experiences, long conversations and funny incidents on the road. It all comes together sometimes.
I commend you for all that you do as a congregation on the journey to the kingdom - for your generosity to those in need, for the programs you cultivate for children, youth and adults, for the beauty and power of your worship! Let us all continue forward in that way, and all the more – in the way of the cross, seeking daily to live out the covenant of our baptism – to live in the love, reconciliation, and fellowship of the cross. Thanks be to God! Amen.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
The Great Vigil of Easter: Where do we go from here?
The Rev. Canon Anne E. Kitch
April 15, 2006
Mark 16:1-8
Where do we go from here? Just what do you suppose we should do next? We’ve had new fire, the beautifully chanted exultet, great story telling, a baptism, it’s Easter…and the Eucharist is coming up. What more could you want out of one service? Out of one community? Out of life?
Where do we go from here? This might be what Jack’s parents are thinking about now. It took a big effort to get here: to this Church, to this moment, to this baptism. But, as they well know, Baptism is not the end. It is not simply a matter of getting the baby done. Greg and Cheryl are well aware that this is only the beginning. After all, they have just promised to help their son grow into the full stature of Christ. They have some work to do. And by the way, so do we. We all promised to help. I hate to break it to all of you gathered here, but none of us is finished yet…not with Jack’s baptism, and not with ours either.
Baptism is an important event in and of itself. After all, we have been so bold as to call down the Holy Spirit to enter into this newest Christian. Yet it is not the baptismal rite itself but where it leads that is ultimately the point. Baptism is a threshold experience. We do not remain at the font. Jack is already older than he was when we poured water over his head. He is older than he was when we welcomed him into the household of God. He is older than he was when I stared this sermon. He has crossed the threshold of baptism and moved on into his life in Christ. Tonight, we are all moving with him. Did you feel it? Did you get wet? Tonight we too are carried along in the baptismal waters. This baptism recalls a knowledge of Gods’ presence in each of us.
So, where do we go from here? We ask the question because the answer is not always clear. Sometimes we ask the question with confidence, with a certain daring and a sense of completion. How could it get any better than this? But there are times when this question marks confusion, a sense of uncertainty or even despair. Often we don’t know what to do next, either because we are so full, so satiated and so at the top of our game that there seems no place left to go, or because our path seems so dark and we feel so lost that we don’t know if there is any way open to us at all. At those times we feel we have reached a dead end, exhausted all options.
Where do we go from here? This must have been what the women felt when they encountered the empty tomb. Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome had been with Jesus for months, even years. These disciples who had traveled with him, shared meals with him and learned from him. These faithful women stood with him even at the foot of the cross. And after that horrible day, they lived through the next empty one.
I think it was the day after the crucifixion, the long Sabbath day after Jesus was laid in the tomb, when they hit the wall. I think it was on the day after, when these women arrived at a dead end. Do you know what the day after feels like? The day after disaster? Your adrenaline has run out and reality sets in. I think they were lost and thought they couldn’t get any more lost. And then…and then… on the next day…the third day, when the sun had just risen, they encountered the empty tomb.
What would it really be like to visit the graveside of your friend, perhaps with flowers in hand, and find an open and empty grave? Despite everything they had ever heard about Jesus and the messiah, they could not have expected this. No wonder they were alarmed! Instead of a body, they find a man in white, just sitting there. And then the man (an angel, perhaps ?) speaks, “Don’t be alarmed!” As if saying that ever helps ! Honestly, it would be a bit like someone telling first time parents not to be alarmed when their newborn suddenly spikes a fever for the first time. It’s not as if these women have encountered a resurrected savior before! Nor do they encounter one now. Jesus is not there.
“You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified,” says the man in white. “He has been raised; he is not here. He’s gone on ahead. You’ll catch up with him in Galilee. Just go and get Peter and the rest and meet him there.” Oh. He’s gone ahead to Galilee. Well that makes complete sense! Thank you very much sir, we’ll just be on our way now…..No. What happened next was those women got the heck out of there. As soon as their frozen hearts and legs would let them, they fled. They fled from the tomb seized with terror and amazement. And apparently they forgot their errand because in this gospel telling, “they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”
That is how Mark’s gospel account ends: and they said nothing to anyone for they were afraid. Now if you go home and look un the gospel of Mark in your bible, you may find an added ending. Because the people that read Mark’s gospel couldn’t leave it there. Later writers added a whole bit about Mary Magdalene meeting the resurrected Jesus. Clearly that did happen. We have other accounts of it in the gospels of Luke, Matthew and John. Clearly the women did tell someone eventually, or else none of us would be here for such a very long church service tonight. But Mark’s gospel account ends in fear and silence. Perhaps that is a realistic response. What would it really be like to find yourself face to face with a fulfilled prophecy? How would you react if you encountered a resurrected Messiah when you went to visit the cemetery? If we fear death (and I think in our heart of hearts we all do), then I believe we fear resurrection more. I think if face to face with the reality of a risen messiah, we would be terrified.
Where do we go from here? Here we are, more than three quarters of the way into this Easter Vigil. We’ve had a new fire, some great stories, a baptism, an empty tomb….and terror and silence. Where do we go from here? Literally, tonight we go to the table. We make Eucharist. We will share an Easter feast and we will remember that Jesus lived and died and rose again. We will remember that because the tomb is empty, our lives are not. We will remember that what opens for those women with the empty tomb, is the possibility that all that Jesus said is true. He is the messiah. He is imbued with Godhead. He is the one who will save, has saved us all. And if that is true, then so is something else. All that Jesus said about us, and all that he calls us to be, is very real. As we make Eucharist tonight, we will remember that like those dry bones in the valley God can breathe life into us. God does breathe life into us. We are to live and to live to the fullest. We are to live into the full stature of Christ.
We will break bread and share in the one cup and be filled with the Holy Spirit. We will rejoice and be sent out into the world to share in this good news; all of us--even baby Jack (who is even older now). We will be sent out. Sometimes that will terrify us. Nevertheless, the story will be told and Christ’s redeeming love will continue to call others to the baptismal waters and the Eucharistic feast and we will go on. So--where will you go from here?
April 15, 2006
Mark 16:1-8
Where do we go from here? Just what do you suppose we should do next? We’ve had new fire, the beautifully chanted exultet, great story telling, a baptism, it’s Easter…and the Eucharist is coming up. What more could you want out of one service? Out of one community? Out of life?
Where do we go from here? This might be what Jack’s parents are thinking about now. It took a big effort to get here: to this Church, to this moment, to this baptism. But, as they well know, Baptism is not the end. It is not simply a matter of getting the baby done. Greg and Cheryl are well aware that this is only the beginning. After all, they have just promised to help their son grow into the full stature of Christ. They have some work to do. And by the way, so do we. We all promised to help. I hate to break it to all of you gathered here, but none of us is finished yet…not with Jack’s baptism, and not with ours either.
Baptism is an important event in and of itself. After all, we have been so bold as to call down the Holy Spirit to enter into this newest Christian. Yet it is not the baptismal rite itself but where it leads that is ultimately the point. Baptism is a threshold experience. We do not remain at the font. Jack is already older than he was when we poured water over his head. He is older than he was when we welcomed him into the household of God. He is older than he was when I stared this sermon. He has crossed the threshold of baptism and moved on into his life in Christ. Tonight, we are all moving with him. Did you feel it? Did you get wet? Tonight we too are carried along in the baptismal waters. This baptism recalls a knowledge of Gods’ presence in each of us.
So, where do we go from here? We ask the question because the answer is not always clear. Sometimes we ask the question with confidence, with a certain daring and a sense of completion. How could it get any better than this? But there are times when this question marks confusion, a sense of uncertainty or even despair. Often we don’t know what to do next, either because we are so full, so satiated and so at the top of our game that there seems no place left to go, or because our path seems so dark and we feel so lost that we don’t know if there is any way open to us at all. At those times we feel we have reached a dead end, exhausted all options.
Where do we go from here? This must have been what the women felt when they encountered the empty tomb. Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome had been with Jesus for months, even years. These disciples who had traveled with him, shared meals with him and learned from him. These faithful women stood with him even at the foot of the cross. And after that horrible day, they lived through the next empty one.
I think it was the day after the crucifixion, the long Sabbath day after Jesus was laid in the tomb, when they hit the wall. I think it was on the day after, when these women arrived at a dead end. Do you know what the day after feels like? The day after disaster? Your adrenaline has run out and reality sets in. I think they were lost and thought they couldn’t get any more lost. And then…and then… on the next day…the third day, when the sun had just risen, they encountered the empty tomb.
What would it really be like to visit the graveside of your friend, perhaps with flowers in hand, and find an open and empty grave? Despite everything they had ever heard about Jesus and the messiah, they could not have expected this. No wonder they were alarmed! Instead of a body, they find a man in white, just sitting there. And then the man (an angel, perhaps ?) speaks, “Don’t be alarmed!” As if saying that ever helps ! Honestly, it would be a bit like someone telling first time parents not to be alarmed when their newborn suddenly spikes a fever for the first time. It’s not as if these women have encountered a resurrected savior before! Nor do they encounter one now. Jesus is not there.
“You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified,” says the man in white. “He has been raised; he is not here. He’s gone on ahead. You’ll catch up with him in Galilee. Just go and get Peter and the rest and meet him there.” Oh. He’s gone ahead to Galilee. Well that makes complete sense! Thank you very much sir, we’ll just be on our way now…..No. What happened next was those women got the heck out of there. As soon as their frozen hearts and legs would let them, they fled. They fled from the tomb seized with terror and amazement. And apparently they forgot their errand because in this gospel telling, “they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”
That is how Mark’s gospel account ends: and they said nothing to anyone for they were afraid. Now if you go home and look un the gospel of Mark in your bible, you may find an added ending. Because the people that read Mark’s gospel couldn’t leave it there. Later writers added a whole bit about Mary Magdalene meeting the resurrected Jesus. Clearly that did happen. We have other accounts of it in the gospels of Luke, Matthew and John. Clearly the women did tell someone eventually, or else none of us would be here for such a very long church service tonight. But Mark’s gospel account ends in fear and silence. Perhaps that is a realistic response. What would it really be like to find yourself face to face with a fulfilled prophecy? How would you react if you encountered a resurrected Messiah when you went to visit the cemetery? If we fear death (and I think in our heart of hearts we all do), then I believe we fear resurrection more. I think if face to face with the reality of a risen messiah, we would be terrified.
Where do we go from here? Here we are, more than three quarters of the way into this Easter Vigil. We’ve had a new fire, some great stories, a baptism, an empty tomb….and terror and silence. Where do we go from here? Literally, tonight we go to the table. We make Eucharist. We will share an Easter feast and we will remember that Jesus lived and died and rose again. We will remember that because the tomb is empty, our lives are not. We will remember that what opens for those women with the empty tomb, is the possibility that all that Jesus said is true. He is the messiah. He is imbued with Godhead. He is the one who will save, has saved us all. And if that is true, then so is something else. All that Jesus said about us, and all that he calls us to be, is very real. As we make Eucharist tonight, we will remember that like those dry bones in the valley God can breathe life into us. God does breathe life into us. We are to live and to live to the fullest. We are to live into the full stature of Christ.
We will break bread and share in the one cup and be filled with the Holy Spirit. We will rejoice and be sent out into the world to share in this good news; all of us--even baby Jack (who is even older now). We will be sent out. Sometimes that will terrify us. Nevertheless, the story will be told and Christ’s redeeming love will continue to call others to the baptismal waters and the Eucharistic feast and we will go on. So--where will you go from here?
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Easter Sunday II: The Day of Resurrection
The Ven. Howard Stringfellow
April 17, 2006
at 11 o'clock in the morning
In the Name of the True and Living God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
This is the Day that preachers yearn to see. This is the Day when we get our chance to show the many people that are here that the preaching is pretty good on the other fifty-one Sundays of the year.
Despite the great music, the beautiful flowers, and the people, this is the Day that we all can relax. The Day is out of our control. And it’s out of our understanding. We preach what cannot be proved unless you know the Lord, and if you do, we preach the undeniable and the incontrovertible.
For this is the Day of the Resurrection, when Jesus Christ was raised from the dead to the glory of the Father. As the Psalmist wrote so long ago and as we have just sung together: “On this day the LORD has acted; * we will rejoice and be glad in it.” Today marks God’s action. We can stare into the empty tomb with Peter, John, who is the disciple who Jesus loved, and Mary Magdalene. And we can relax in what God has done.
Christians have it easy when you think of it. We’ve just finished Lent with its special disciplines and special demands, but they seem to me pale and weak when you consider Islam’s Ramadan, the ninth month, the sacred month, in their year when they fast every day from dawn to sunset. And in Islam, don’t forget, no spirits or wine is permitted on any day of the year, three hundred sixty-five days of the year. Christians enjoy much freedom by comparison.
And we enjoy more freedom, I think, than the Jews, who now are celebrating Passover, a festival, which obliges them to eat unleavened bread, to eat particular foods, and to use special vessels for cooking and eating—all this in addition to the day-by-day separation of meat and dairy foods, and the necessity of keeping the Sabbath holy, of worshipping and doing no work on that day.
By comparison, we Christians have few demands. We have taken on the yoke of Christ, who invites us all to be part of him: “Come to me, all whose work is hard, whose load is heavy; and I will give you relief. Bend your necks to my yoke, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble-hearted; and your souls will find relief. For my yoke is good to bear, and my load is light.” We can relax today, because the yoke we bear is light. God has done for us what we could never do for ourselves.
We’re given an example of how little we actually have to do when Jesus appears to Mary Magdalene after his resurrection. She goes to the tomb and discovers the stone to have been moved and the Lord to be missing. “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” She’s perfectly rational, perfectly reasonable. A rocket scientist could say the same. The empty tomb alone does not persuade her.
And as the proclamation of the Gospel continues, we hear the moving encounter between Mary Magdalene and Jesus, whom she supposes is the Gardener. In her sadness and grief, and in her unbelief, she weeps. And a voice asks her, “‘Woman, why are you weeping?’ Whom are you looking for?’” “‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me were you have laid him, and I will take him away.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Mary.’” And she has only to recognize him.
He was the last person she expected to see. But he was the one standing right beside her. He does for her what she cannot do for herself. From time to time, more often than you might think, people visit me by night, as the Scriptures say of Nicodemus’ visit to Jesus, and they ask, “How do I find the Lord in my life?” Like Mary, they see the empty tomb. They know the Lord is missing. They talk to gardeners, doctors, and family, but they want to know that they have seen the Lord, as Mary later announces to the disciples. The best I can say to them is that he makes himself known on his own schedule and often to people who least expect him—like Mary herself, supposing him to be the gardener. His yoke is easy. And his burden is light. He makes himself known even to those who do not believe, like Mary, who believes at first not in the resurrection but in the theft of the Lord’s body. He makes himself known to those who aren’t especially looking to find him. He makes himself known to those who hope and pray never to meet him. He makes himself known to those who, like Mary, will dedicate themselves to make his resurrection known. Many of the people who come to me by night have already seen the Lord. They just haven’t put the name to the face, just like Mary Magdalene.
So, it is good advice today, of all days, to relax. Even as we take our ease, the Gardener is approaching. Even as we go about our business, he is looking to meet us. Even as we celebrate with family and friends, he moves forward, humbly and quietly, to make our acquaintance. As Saint Paul wrote to the Christians in Colossae, “When Christ who is your life is revealed, then you also will be revealed with him in glory.” Alleluia! Christ is risen!
In Christ’s Name. Amen.
April 17, 2006
at 11 o'clock in the morning
In the Name of the True and Living God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
This is the Day that preachers yearn to see. This is the Day when we get our chance to show the many people that are here that the preaching is pretty good on the other fifty-one Sundays of the year.
Despite the great music, the beautiful flowers, and the people, this is the Day that we all can relax. The Day is out of our control. And it’s out of our understanding. We preach what cannot be proved unless you know the Lord, and if you do, we preach the undeniable and the incontrovertible.
For this is the Day of the Resurrection, when Jesus Christ was raised from the dead to the glory of the Father. As the Psalmist wrote so long ago and as we have just sung together: “On this day the LORD has acted; * we will rejoice and be glad in it.” Today marks God’s action. We can stare into the empty tomb with Peter, John, who is the disciple who Jesus loved, and Mary Magdalene. And we can relax in what God has done.
Christians have it easy when you think of it. We’ve just finished Lent with its special disciplines and special demands, but they seem to me pale and weak when you consider Islam’s Ramadan, the ninth month, the sacred month, in their year when they fast every day from dawn to sunset. And in Islam, don’t forget, no spirits or wine is permitted on any day of the year, three hundred sixty-five days of the year. Christians enjoy much freedom by comparison.
And we enjoy more freedom, I think, than the Jews, who now are celebrating Passover, a festival, which obliges them to eat unleavened bread, to eat particular foods, and to use special vessels for cooking and eating—all this in addition to the day-by-day separation of meat and dairy foods, and the necessity of keeping the Sabbath holy, of worshipping and doing no work on that day.
By comparison, we Christians have few demands. We have taken on the yoke of Christ, who invites us all to be part of him: “Come to me, all whose work is hard, whose load is heavy; and I will give you relief. Bend your necks to my yoke, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble-hearted; and your souls will find relief. For my yoke is good to bear, and my load is light.” We can relax today, because the yoke we bear is light. God has done for us what we could never do for ourselves.
We’re given an example of how little we actually have to do when Jesus appears to Mary Magdalene after his resurrection. She goes to the tomb and discovers the stone to have been moved and the Lord to be missing. “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” She’s perfectly rational, perfectly reasonable. A rocket scientist could say the same. The empty tomb alone does not persuade her.
And as the proclamation of the Gospel continues, we hear the moving encounter between Mary Magdalene and Jesus, whom she supposes is the Gardener. In her sadness and grief, and in her unbelief, she weeps. And a voice asks her, “‘Woman, why are you weeping?’ Whom are you looking for?’” “‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me were you have laid him, and I will take him away.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Mary.’” And she has only to recognize him.
He was the last person she expected to see. But he was the one standing right beside her. He does for her what she cannot do for herself. From time to time, more often than you might think, people visit me by night, as the Scriptures say of Nicodemus’ visit to Jesus, and they ask, “How do I find the Lord in my life?” Like Mary, they see the empty tomb. They know the Lord is missing. They talk to gardeners, doctors, and family, but they want to know that they have seen the Lord, as Mary later announces to the disciples. The best I can say to them is that he makes himself known on his own schedule and often to people who least expect him—like Mary herself, supposing him to be the gardener. His yoke is easy. And his burden is light. He makes himself known even to those who do not believe, like Mary, who believes at first not in the resurrection but in the theft of the Lord’s body. He makes himself known to those who aren’t especially looking to find him. He makes himself known to those who hope and pray never to meet him. He makes himself known to those who, like Mary, will dedicate themselves to make his resurrection known. Many of the people who come to me by night have already seen the Lord. They just haven’t put the name to the face, just like Mary Magdalene.
So, it is good advice today, of all days, to relax. Even as we take our ease, the Gardener is approaching. Even as we go about our business, he is looking to meet us. Even as we celebrate with family and friends, he moves forward, humbly and quietly, to make our acquaintance. As Saint Paul wrote to the Christians in Colossae, “When Christ who is your life is revealed, then you also will be revealed with him in glory.” Alleluia! Christ is risen!
In Christ’s Name. Amen.
Easter Sunday: The Day of Resurrection
The Ven. Howard Stringfellow
April 17, 2006
at 8 o'clock in the morning
In the Name of the True and Living God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
If you think it’s challenging to sing at eight o’clock in the morning, I want you to try preaching.
Today marks your new beginning whether it feels like it or not. For Christ’s resurrection created the church. We simply would not be here if the first disciples of Jesus, returning to his tomb at dawn on that first Easter Day morning had found, as they expected to find, his dead body. Because of the onset of the Sabbath at dusk on Good Friday, they had only been able to lay him in the tomb. Being good Jews, they could not anoint his body. They had to wait until the Sabbath was over.
But what they found, instead of his dead body, was his empty tomb. At first, they thought someone had taken his body away. Then Peter entered the tomb and saw the linen cloths. Then John, the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, also went in, and he saw its gaping emptiness. He saw, and he believed. Peter, as you know, recollects himself, so that he could say, as he does in the first reading, “You know .… how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power; how he went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him.”
I believe that is why you are all here this morning. Whatever else you know, you are aware of how extraordinary Jesus was. Because of his love and mercy for the outcast and the people on the margins; because of his power to heal the sick and afflicted, to bring peace and sanity to the disturbed and even the possessed; because of his loving honesty that afflicted the powerful, the comfortable, and the self-righteous; because of his amazing sense of inner security and peace and his fearlessness in the face of all the things that make us fearful. If slow at the tomb, Peter was right later when he spoke the first reading today.
So that we may not be slow in the face of the empty tomb, we all need to understand two things.
One. It was inevitable that Jesus would go through his suffering and death, terrible as it was. Jesus knew this and said so. The disciples, led by Peter, would not hear it, but Jesus insisted on it. Actually, Jesus’ death was more than inevitable. It was necessary. The necessity stems from the fact that God is not only almighty. God is almighty love. God, out of almighty love, created human freedom, and with that freedom, God allowed for the possibility that we would choose not to love him in return. God took the risk, out of love, that we would choose to get lost. It was necessary for God to come among us, and in coming among us, endure the worst we had to offer, so that he could bring us back with his almighty love.
Two. Although it was necessary that Christ die, it was impossible for death to hold onto him. In words from a hymn, “They cut me down, but I leapt up high. I am the Life that will never, never die.” We do not speak of a resuscitated corpse. But neither do we speak of a disembodied spirit, a soul, or a ghost. On this side of things, on earth’s side of heaven, all that was left was an empty tomb and some grave cloths. On the other side of things, on heaven’s side of earth, the risen Lord shows us something entirely unexpected and new. Saint Paul describes the mystery in the First Epistle to the Corinthians, chapter 15, in verses following those of the Epistle: “What is sown is perishable, what is raised is imperishable .… It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power.” One of my favorite verses, found in the Epistle to the Colossians, puts the resurrection this way: “You have died, and your life is hid with Christ in God.”
Again, today marks your new beginning whether it feels like it or not. Beloved in Christ: take hold of this gift today. Let go of all the dead things that waste so much of our time and energy. Let us leave them behind for others to gawk at, like the burial linen in Jesus’ tomb. Let us get a grip, as they say, on life, which is hid with Christ in God and which will take us through everything, even death. And let’s be ready to tell people the Good News, the reason why we have a new lease, a new beginning, on this the most glorious day of Creation.
In Christ’s Name. Amen.
April 17, 2006
at 8 o'clock in the morning
In the Name of the True and Living God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
If you think it’s challenging to sing at eight o’clock in the morning, I want you to try preaching.
Today marks your new beginning whether it feels like it or not. For Christ’s resurrection created the church. We simply would not be here if the first disciples of Jesus, returning to his tomb at dawn on that first Easter Day morning had found, as they expected to find, his dead body. Because of the onset of the Sabbath at dusk on Good Friday, they had only been able to lay him in the tomb. Being good Jews, they could not anoint his body. They had to wait until the Sabbath was over.
But what they found, instead of his dead body, was his empty tomb. At first, they thought someone had taken his body away. Then Peter entered the tomb and saw the linen cloths. Then John, the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, also went in, and he saw its gaping emptiness. He saw, and he believed. Peter, as you know, recollects himself, so that he could say, as he does in the first reading, “You know .… how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power; how he went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him.”
I believe that is why you are all here this morning. Whatever else you know, you are aware of how extraordinary Jesus was. Because of his love and mercy for the outcast and the people on the margins; because of his power to heal the sick and afflicted, to bring peace and sanity to the disturbed and even the possessed; because of his loving honesty that afflicted the powerful, the comfortable, and the self-righteous; because of his amazing sense of inner security and peace and his fearlessness in the face of all the things that make us fearful. If slow at the tomb, Peter was right later when he spoke the first reading today.
So that we may not be slow in the face of the empty tomb, we all need to understand two things.
One. It was inevitable that Jesus would go through his suffering and death, terrible as it was. Jesus knew this and said so. The disciples, led by Peter, would not hear it, but Jesus insisted on it. Actually, Jesus’ death was more than inevitable. It was necessary. The necessity stems from the fact that God is not only almighty. God is almighty love. God, out of almighty love, created human freedom, and with that freedom, God allowed for the possibility that we would choose not to love him in return. God took the risk, out of love, that we would choose to get lost. It was necessary for God to come among us, and in coming among us, endure the worst we had to offer, so that he could bring us back with his almighty love.
Two. Although it was necessary that Christ die, it was impossible for death to hold onto him. In words from a hymn, “They cut me down, but I leapt up high. I am the Life that will never, never die.” We do not speak of a resuscitated corpse. But neither do we speak of a disembodied spirit, a soul, or a ghost. On this side of things, on earth’s side of heaven, all that was left was an empty tomb and some grave cloths. On the other side of things, on heaven’s side of earth, the risen Lord shows us something entirely unexpected and new. Saint Paul describes the mystery in the First Epistle to the Corinthians, chapter 15, in verses following those of the Epistle: “What is sown is perishable, what is raised is imperishable .… It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power.” One of my favorite verses, found in the Epistle to the Colossians, puts the resurrection this way: “You have died, and your life is hid with Christ in God.”
Again, today marks your new beginning whether it feels like it or not. Beloved in Christ: take hold of this gift today. Let go of all the dead things that waste so much of our time and energy. Let us leave them behind for others to gawk at, like the burial linen in Jesus’ tomb. Let us get a grip, as they say, on life, which is hid with Christ in God and which will take us through everything, even death. And let’s be ready to tell people the Good News, the reason why we have a new lease, a new beginning, on this the most glorious day of Creation.
In Christ’s Name. Amen.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Good Friday at the Cathedral: Words from the Cross
The First Word from the Cross
The Rev. Canon Anne Kitch
"Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." Luke 23:34
Jesus, hangs on the cross. Jesus, the son of God. Jesus, the divine one. Jesus who taught his disciples to forgive seventy time seven. Jesus cannot forgive. His words are not, “I forgive you,” but, “Father, you forgive them.” Jesus asks, in fact commands God to forgive. God, you forgive them. The verb tense he uses for forgive is an imperative*. It is not an entreaty, but a command. Or perhaps, a plea? Jesus, who is fully divine on the cross, must have the power to forgive. Yet, Jesus who is fully human on the cross, does not have the will to forgive. Even so, he still has the grace to know that forgiveness is what it means to be God’s own, to be God’s son, to be a human being in love with God. Jesus, who cannot forgive them the cross, flings it to God. You do it. I can’t.
Too often we think of forgiveness as the same as acquittal. If we forgive someone then it must be as if the hurt never happened. Forgive and forget. But forgiveness is not acquittal at all. There is still the hurt. The consequences of the action remain. The effects of hurt and of sin do not disappear. The suffering that accompanies sin is very real. True forgiveness does not mask the suffering, does not deny it, does not try to pretend that nothing ever happened. Should Jesus try to pretend that the cross doesn’t matter, that’s it’s OK? Should we?
To offer forgiveness that honors the suffering requires a measure of love that is often beyond our human limitations. There are wounds which we cannot forgive. There are wounds which take us years to forgive. At this moment on the cross, Jesus cannot afford years. So he flings his life, and his suffering and his need to forgive into God’s hands. Father, forgive them for they know not what they do. It is beyond Jesus. But it is not beyond God.
*See The Force of Forgiveness, Minka Sprague in The Living Pulpit, 2005. Pulpit.org
The Second Word from the Cross
The Ven. Richard I. Cluett
"One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, ‘Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!’ But the other rebuked him, saying, ‘Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.’ Then he said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ He replied, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’ " Luke 23:39-43
Jesus had been silent for a long time. Praying, perhaps. Focused on his pain, perhaps. Listening to the taunts, perhaps, of the mob, of the authorities, of the soldiers; listening to the taunt of the man hanging beside him, perhaps.
Those hung on the crosses beside him must have known about him; must have heard, at least, of his parade into Jerusalem, heard of his audacious and rambunctious behavior at the temple, heard of some of the claims about him. Heard enough for one to taunt him, ‘Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!’ If taunting it was, and not a desperate prayer of a desperate man in a desperate situation.
And the second thief certainly knew something about him, and having heard and having nothing to lose and everything to hope for, he asked, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’
Who did he think he was? Speaking of audacious! The likes of him asking for a place reserved for the disciples; to be in the presence of Jesus when he comes into his kingdom. Scum of the earth. Robber of the poor, taking from those who had nothing! At least he knew that his punishment on the cross was just. But still, the impertinence to ask, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’
But look at his faith. If he had been present with Jesus in his ministry and seen what Jesus did and heard what Jesus said, If he had been at the synagogue in Nazareth, if he had been on the hillside, if he had been at Capernaum, if he had been on the shore of Galilee, if he had been in Bethany when Lazarus died, if he had seen Jesus strong and sure at the top of his game and in his element, you might imagine that he would, that he could, have faith that strong.
But here he is next to this crucified man. Hair matted with blood, body beaten, bloody and bruised, slowly dying in the hot sun, body sagging lower and lower on the cross. This was no star prophet. This was no champion miracle worker. This was a criminal dying on the cross of a criminal.
‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’
Probably not even knowing what he was asking, what it meant to ask such a thing, he had enough faith to ask. Faith that this crucified man was somehow going to prevail. Faith that this crucified man was somehow going to overcome. Faith that this crucified man was somehow going to come into his kingdom. Faith the size of a mustard seed and faith strong enough to transcend death on a cross. What a faith!
And what an answer! ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’
Jesus had been silent for a long time, but he heard that man’s prayer and he answered it.
If Jesus would answer the prayer of that thief at that moment is such a wonderful way, how do you think he will answer your prayer?
The Third Word from the Cross
The Rev. Canon Jane Teter
"Woman, here is your son…Here is your mother." John 19:23-27
"When the soldiers had crucified Jesus, they took his clothes and divided them into four parts, one for each soldier. They also took his tunic; now the tunic was seamless, woven in one piece from the top. So they said to one another, “Let us not tear it, but cast lots for it to see who will get it.” This was to fulfill what the scripture says, “They divided my clothes among themselves, and for my clothing they cast lots.” And that is what the soldiers did. Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home." John 19:23-27
As we approach this scene, we see that there are four women standing with John at the foot of the cross. There is Mary, Jesus’ mother, and his mother’s sister, Salome – the mother of James and John, the sons of Zebedee. There is Mary, the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene, who owed so much to our Lord. We know very little about Mary the wife of Clopas, some think he was the brother of Joseph, Jesus’ step-father.
The four women are watching the four soldiers as they argue about dividing Jesus’ clothing after he was hanging on the cross. Very possibly these women were the ones who made these garments, as they provided for Jesus and his apostles. And here are the soldiers casting lots for his tunic. How must these women have felt? These women loved this Man as no man had ever been loved. One had borne him in her womb and suckled him at her breast. Of course Mary had been warned that a sword would pierce her own heart, but how could she imagine her son being dragged through the streets of Jerusalem, beaten, made to carry his cross, stripped naked and nailed to that cross.
While lots were being cast, Jesus looks down from the cross. He is almost at the end of his struggle. His words from the cross had been for others, his enemies, his executioners (Father, forgive them); for the penitent thief (Today you will be with me in paradise). Now he looks down and sees his Mother and John, the beloved disciple, and he delivers her into John’s keeping: “Woman, behold your son; behold your mother.” And John took her to his own home from that very hour. Even in his suffering, Jesus was concerned about his mother and who would care for her. It was an act of concern, of love, of putting his human affairs in order.
William Temple suggests that Jesus wanted John to take Mary away at that very moment, sparing her his final dying moments. We do not know for sure, but we do know that John was there at the end. I think that Mary was there also – in all of her anguish, it would have been difficult to drag her away. This was her son, dying a horrible death. How must Mary have felt – helpless, being unable to do anything to save her Son. There was nothing she could do to make this go away, to make it better. All she could do was watch and pray. (Many of you have been in situations where you have felt this way – helpless, unable to do anything. But, perhaps, being present and praying is enough).
Ann Weems wrote a poem entitled: Even Now
She stands
beneath him dying
and will not be persuaded to leave,
despite the urging of the others.
They huddle against her
in an effort to hold her
against the pain,
but she stands erect,
unleaning,
her eyes upon his face.
From the hillside
the sounds of weeping and wailing
hang heavy in the air,
but she who held him
in a stable in Bethlehem
stands silent
beneath his cross in Jerusalem,
her heart pondering still,
her soul magnifying the Lord,
her spirit praising God,
knowing even now
that she is blessed among women.
The Fourth Word from the Cross
The Rev. Canon Bill Lewellis
"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Mark 15:34
"I had a revelation during last evening’s Eucharist. The preacher helped. I recognized that what Jesus was really saying to Peter when Peter made his protest about letting Jesus wash his feet was, “Ah, Peter, let me love you.”
This afternoon, I know that the meaning of Good Friday, too, is God’s incredible love for us. Incredible. Hard to believe. Hard to believe because, for any number of reasons, we find it difficult to accept love and simply say thank you. We’d prefer fair play – forgetting, perhaps, that if God were merely fair, we wouldn’t stand a chance.
God’s word to us today, as I hear it, is: Let God love you. Let God love you.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Two of the gospel writers, Matthew and Mark, say simply that Jesus said these words from the cross before he died. What they don’t say is whether the words on Jesus’ lips were an utterance of prayer or a cry of utter despair.
A prayer? Well, the words are the beginning of Psalm 22, which Jesus knew from the Jewish scriptures.
Despair? The psalm is filled with sounds of despair:
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
and are so far from my cry
and from the words of my distress?
O my God, I cry in the daytime, but you do not answer;
by night as well, but I find no rest.
I am a worm and no man,
Scorned and despised by the people.
All who see me laugh me to scorn;
They curl their lips and wag their heads, saying,
“He trusted in the Lord, let him deliver him;
let him rescue him, if he delights in him.
And later in the psalm, the Contemporary English Version of the psalm reads:
You, God, have left me to die in the dirt.
Sounds to me from those verses like a cry of despair.
But take a look at how Psalm 22 reads over all. It’s one of many examples in the scriptures that one-verse proofing proves nothing.
Most of Psalm 22 moves quickly, two to three verses at a time, from cries of utter desperation to prayers of complete trust.
Here are a few of the verses I purposely skipped:
Yet (a crucial word, it seems, in the scriptures) …
Yet you are the Holy One,
enthroned upon the praises of Israel.
Our forefathers put their trust in you;
they trusted, and you delivered them.
They cried out to you and were delivered
they trusted in you and were not put to shame.
Then, a few more verses of despair ... after which we read:
Yet you are he who took me out of the womb,
and kept me safe upon my mother’s breast.
I have been entrusted to you ever since I was born,
you were my God when I was still in my mother’s womb.
Be not far from me, for trouble is near,
and there is none to help.
Utter despair or complete trust?
For me … both.
After all, Jesus was truly human.
I want to tell you something that, for most of my adult life, has been crucial to my relationship with Jesus.
Before doing so, however, let me say this: I can’t think of a time in my life that I did not believe in God in Jesus. I have always believed in … and I set my heart today on God in Jesus.
For most of my adult life, however, it has been crucial to my relationship with Jesus to think that Jesus lived his life without knowing how things were going to turn out … that he was not an actor who knew the ending of the script. I believe in the true man in Jesus. I set my heart on Jesus as true man.
Because Jesus was truly human, he had no more (and no less) reason to trust God than you and I do. He had the tradition. He had the scriptures. It seems he knew them well. He had friends. He had prayer.
Those who wrote the gospels (after the resurrection) knew then more than Jesus (when he walked his way of the cross) about how things would turn out. That is crucial for me. Otherwise, I would have to believe Jesus, when he suffered and died, was simply a good actor. And if I believed Jesus were an actor, I could not believe that he understands how I think, how I feel, how I can live through hills and valley of prayer and despair … how I struggle to understand myself.
Though I set my heart on both the man and the God in Jesus, though it is crucial to know in faith that the man on the cross was God, believing that Jesus did not know he was God has in crucial ways meant more to me than believing he was.
The man on the cross did not know he was God. But he trusted, in the face of evidence to the contrary, that God loved him, that God delighted in him. The God on the cross loved the man on the crorss – passing over with him through death to new life.
On this Good Friday, may we know God’s incredible love for us. Let God love you. Let God love you.
Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.
The Fifth Word from the Cross
The Rev. Canon Joel Atkinson
"I thirst." John 19:28
there are all kinds of thirst.
the thirst of one in an arid place
a place where lips
and skin are parched
a place where the tongue clings
to roof of one’s mouth
jesus considering what he’d been through
had to have felt deeply
this kind of physical thirst
those who offered vinegar
to quench his thirst
obviously thought so
“I THIRST!”
i believe his thirst was deeper
than this parching kind of thirst
perhaps he thirsted for all
his dying so young
would cause him to miss in life
no wife
no family
never the satisfaction of living to a ripe old age
surrounded by those he loved
jesus knew authorities
both national and roman
viewed him a dangerous man
possibly a revolutionary
a trouble maker
an upsetter of the apple cart
maybe even a terrorist threat
jesus had to have known
humiliation and execution
were in the realm of possibility
jesus cried in dread and fear of all the things
other mortals might make him bear
what went wrong or is this the way it was supposed to be?
“I THIRST!”
yet though existential dreads and losses were felt
i believe his deepest thirsty cry
was of another sort
“My God my God why have you forsaken me!”
maybe jesus in his anguished thirsty cry
sought assurance from god
his life had not been in vain
abandoned by pledgers of allegiance to his ministry
now suffering excruciating mental
physical and
spiritual pain
he must have ask
where’s the father he so loved
and ever sought to mind?
what went wrong or is this the way it was supposed to be?
“I THIRST!”
yet I believe there was even a deeper kind of thirst he felt
as his life lost focus
in the seeming denial of all his life had meant
in the anguish he personally felt
he cried forgiveness
in an incomprehensible leap of faith
‘cause from his lips issued hope
to another suffering
upon a neighboring bloody tool of death
“Today you will be with me in paradise.”
a cry of thirst for life
not just for that dying thief
but in that affirmation of hope
in the midst death
for that thief
himself
and all of us as well
what went wrong or is this the way it was supposed to be?
“I THIRST!”
one more thirst remains
he thirsted
for all who knew his life
for all who’d heard his words
for all who’d witnessed his deeds
for all who’d met him
for even those who knew him not
that they will come to know the loving Father he had known
that they would seek
to make real the love of God they’d felt
and that all God’s children
with that thief and himself
would finally and most fully
be enfolded into the eternal life of God.
The Sixth Word from the Cross
The Ven Richard I. Cluett
"When Jesus had received the wine, he said, ‘It is finished.’ Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit." John 19:30
He gave it up. He gave it over. The work of Jesus of Nazareth is done. All is finished, but nothing is lost. His spirit rests on you and me and the church.
There does come a time, doesn’t it when we need to say, “It’s over.” “Let it go.” “Give it up.” “Move on.” “It is finished.”
“On the seventh day God finished the work he had done, and on the seventh day he rested from all the work he had done.” Genesis 2:2
It’s time to put away childish things and grow up, childhood is finished. A marriage is begun, being priority number one is finished. The job is finished. A relationship ends, it is finished. Our abilities are impaired and it’s time to stop driving, it is finished. Eventually we will die, it will be finished.
Acknowledge the inevitable? Perhaps. Recognize reality? Perhaps. Admit to our finitude? Perhaps. For everything there is a season? Perhaps.
How do we do it, though? That is the question. How do we let it go? How do we give it up? How do we move on? How do we finish?
Do we rage and storm? Sturm and drang? Curse God and die? Or do we go gently into that good night, that future, that next stage?
All finishes contain the opportunity to trust – or not? Finishing school and going out into the work-a-day world. Finishing work and going into retirement? Finishing this life. All are opportunities for trust and for grace. Endings are part of all life.
It is because Jesus finished that we can end whatever needs ending safely, with trust and grace. Jesus has given us his spirit, and one another, and hope, and eternal life and, and, and, and...
It is safe to say, it is okay to say, “It is finished” when it is finished.
The Seventh Word from the Cross
The Rev. Canon Anne Kitch
"Father, into your hands I commend my spirit." Luke 23:46
I don’t know what it is like to die. I don’t know if there is that moment, when you are being killed, that you realize that you are going to die and that it is all going to end. I don’t know if there is a conscious moment when you can make one final act of will, one final choice to let go. Father, into your hands I commend my spirit. The final action of Jesus on the cross, Jesus’ final choice, is to let go. But it is more than that. It is to give. His final act is to give himself, to offer himself, to place himself in God’s hands. Jesus dying act is to entrust himself to a loving father. Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.
Into your hands. What are God’s hands like?
It’s elements were unremarkable: a basin, a pitcher of water, and a towel. As we celebrated Maundy Thursday here in this Cathedral last night, a father and child came forward for the ritual foot washing. The father sat in a wooden chapel chair as the child knelt at his feet. They were unobserved by most in the congregation who were singing a hymn at the time. The father placed his bare feet in the basin, the young child carefully poured warm water on them, then picked them up one by one and held them in her small hands. She gently washed each one, intent on her task. This was not a symbolic act for her. There was nothing perfunctory in her movements. Her hands held his feet fast. He gave himself over into her care. It was loving. It was safe. It was redeeming.
Into your hands I commend my spirit. These words on the lips of Jesus are quoted from a psalm (Psalm 31:5). What are God’s hands like?
God’s hands, which lovingly created the world:
In the beginning, O Lord, you laid the foundations of the earth and the heavens are the work of your hands (Psalm 102:25)
God’s hands, which faithfully reach for us:
The works of his hands are faithfulness and justice, all his commandments are sure (Psalm 111.7)
God’s hands, which never let go:
My soul clings to you, your right hand holds me fast (Psalm 63:8)
Into your hands, I commend my spirit, for you have redeemed me, O Lord O God of truth, the psalmist prays. Into your hand I commend my spirit, Jesus prays.
Into your hands.
The Rev. Canon Anne Kitch
"Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." Luke 23:34
Jesus, hangs on the cross. Jesus, the son of God. Jesus, the divine one. Jesus who taught his disciples to forgive seventy time seven. Jesus cannot forgive. His words are not, “I forgive you,” but, “Father, you forgive them.” Jesus asks, in fact commands God to forgive. God, you forgive them. The verb tense he uses for forgive is an imperative*. It is not an entreaty, but a command. Or perhaps, a plea? Jesus, who is fully divine on the cross, must have the power to forgive. Yet, Jesus who is fully human on the cross, does not have the will to forgive. Even so, he still has the grace to know that forgiveness is what it means to be God’s own, to be God’s son, to be a human being in love with God. Jesus, who cannot forgive them the cross, flings it to God. You do it. I can’t.
Too often we think of forgiveness as the same as acquittal. If we forgive someone then it must be as if the hurt never happened. Forgive and forget. But forgiveness is not acquittal at all. There is still the hurt. The consequences of the action remain. The effects of hurt and of sin do not disappear. The suffering that accompanies sin is very real. True forgiveness does not mask the suffering, does not deny it, does not try to pretend that nothing ever happened. Should Jesus try to pretend that the cross doesn’t matter, that’s it’s OK? Should we?
To offer forgiveness that honors the suffering requires a measure of love that is often beyond our human limitations. There are wounds which we cannot forgive. There are wounds which take us years to forgive. At this moment on the cross, Jesus cannot afford years. So he flings his life, and his suffering and his need to forgive into God’s hands. Father, forgive them for they know not what they do. It is beyond Jesus. But it is not beyond God.
*See The Force of Forgiveness, Minka Sprague in The Living Pulpit, 2005. Pulpit.org
The Second Word from the Cross
The Ven. Richard I. Cluett
"One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, ‘Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!’ But the other rebuked him, saying, ‘Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.’ Then he said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ He replied, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’ " Luke 23:39-43
Jesus had been silent for a long time. Praying, perhaps. Focused on his pain, perhaps. Listening to the taunts, perhaps, of the mob, of the authorities, of the soldiers; listening to the taunt of the man hanging beside him, perhaps.
Those hung on the crosses beside him must have known about him; must have heard, at least, of his parade into Jerusalem, heard of his audacious and rambunctious behavior at the temple, heard of some of the claims about him. Heard enough for one to taunt him, ‘Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!’ If taunting it was, and not a desperate prayer of a desperate man in a desperate situation.
And the second thief certainly knew something about him, and having heard and having nothing to lose and everything to hope for, he asked, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’
Who did he think he was? Speaking of audacious! The likes of him asking for a place reserved for the disciples; to be in the presence of Jesus when he comes into his kingdom. Scum of the earth. Robber of the poor, taking from those who had nothing! At least he knew that his punishment on the cross was just. But still, the impertinence to ask, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’
But look at his faith. If he had been present with Jesus in his ministry and seen what Jesus did and heard what Jesus said, If he had been at the synagogue in Nazareth, if he had been on the hillside, if he had been at Capernaum, if he had been on the shore of Galilee, if he had been in Bethany when Lazarus died, if he had seen Jesus strong and sure at the top of his game and in his element, you might imagine that he would, that he could, have faith that strong.
But here he is next to this crucified man. Hair matted with blood, body beaten, bloody and bruised, slowly dying in the hot sun, body sagging lower and lower on the cross. This was no star prophet. This was no champion miracle worker. This was a criminal dying on the cross of a criminal.
‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’
Probably not even knowing what he was asking, what it meant to ask such a thing, he had enough faith to ask. Faith that this crucified man was somehow going to prevail. Faith that this crucified man was somehow going to overcome. Faith that this crucified man was somehow going to come into his kingdom. Faith the size of a mustard seed and faith strong enough to transcend death on a cross. What a faith!
And what an answer! ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’
Jesus had been silent for a long time, but he heard that man’s prayer and he answered it.
If Jesus would answer the prayer of that thief at that moment is such a wonderful way, how do you think he will answer your prayer?
The Third Word from the Cross
The Rev. Canon Jane Teter
"Woman, here is your son…Here is your mother." John 19:23-27
"When the soldiers had crucified Jesus, they took his clothes and divided them into four parts, one for each soldier. They also took his tunic; now the tunic was seamless, woven in one piece from the top. So they said to one another, “Let us not tear it, but cast lots for it to see who will get it.” This was to fulfill what the scripture says, “They divided my clothes among themselves, and for my clothing they cast lots.” And that is what the soldiers did. Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home." John 19:23-27
As we approach this scene, we see that there are four women standing with John at the foot of the cross. There is Mary, Jesus’ mother, and his mother’s sister, Salome – the mother of James and John, the sons of Zebedee. There is Mary, the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene, who owed so much to our Lord. We know very little about Mary the wife of Clopas, some think he was the brother of Joseph, Jesus’ step-father.
The four women are watching the four soldiers as they argue about dividing Jesus’ clothing after he was hanging on the cross. Very possibly these women were the ones who made these garments, as they provided for Jesus and his apostles. And here are the soldiers casting lots for his tunic. How must these women have felt? These women loved this Man as no man had ever been loved. One had borne him in her womb and suckled him at her breast. Of course Mary had been warned that a sword would pierce her own heart, but how could she imagine her son being dragged through the streets of Jerusalem, beaten, made to carry his cross, stripped naked and nailed to that cross.
While lots were being cast, Jesus looks down from the cross. He is almost at the end of his struggle. His words from the cross had been for others, his enemies, his executioners (Father, forgive them); for the penitent thief (Today you will be with me in paradise). Now he looks down and sees his Mother and John, the beloved disciple, and he delivers her into John’s keeping: “Woman, behold your son; behold your mother.” And John took her to his own home from that very hour. Even in his suffering, Jesus was concerned about his mother and who would care for her. It was an act of concern, of love, of putting his human affairs in order.
William Temple suggests that Jesus wanted John to take Mary away at that very moment, sparing her his final dying moments. We do not know for sure, but we do know that John was there at the end. I think that Mary was there also – in all of her anguish, it would have been difficult to drag her away. This was her son, dying a horrible death. How must Mary have felt – helpless, being unable to do anything to save her Son. There was nothing she could do to make this go away, to make it better. All she could do was watch and pray. (Many of you have been in situations where you have felt this way – helpless, unable to do anything. But, perhaps, being present and praying is enough).
Ann Weems wrote a poem entitled: Even Now
She stands
beneath him dying
and will not be persuaded to leave,
despite the urging of the others.
They huddle against her
in an effort to hold her
against the pain,
but she stands erect,
unleaning,
her eyes upon his face.
From the hillside
the sounds of weeping and wailing
hang heavy in the air,
but she who held him
in a stable in Bethlehem
stands silent
beneath his cross in Jerusalem,
her heart pondering still,
her soul magnifying the Lord,
her spirit praising God,
knowing even now
that she is blessed among women.
The Fourth Word from the Cross
The Rev. Canon Bill Lewellis
"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Mark 15:34
"I had a revelation during last evening’s Eucharist. The preacher helped. I recognized that what Jesus was really saying to Peter when Peter made his protest about letting Jesus wash his feet was, “Ah, Peter, let me love you.”
This afternoon, I know that the meaning of Good Friday, too, is God’s incredible love for us. Incredible. Hard to believe. Hard to believe because, for any number of reasons, we find it difficult to accept love and simply say thank you. We’d prefer fair play – forgetting, perhaps, that if God were merely fair, we wouldn’t stand a chance.
God’s word to us today, as I hear it, is: Let God love you. Let God love you.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Two of the gospel writers, Matthew and Mark, say simply that Jesus said these words from the cross before he died. What they don’t say is whether the words on Jesus’ lips were an utterance of prayer or a cry of utter despair.
A prayer? Well, the words are the beginning of Psalm 22, which Jesus knew from the Jewish scriptures.
Despair? The psalm is filled with sounds of despair:
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
and are so far from my cry
and from the words of my distress?
O my God, I cry in the daytime, but you do not answer;
by night as well, but I find no rest.
I am a worm and no man,
Scorned and despised by the people.
All who see me laugh me to scorn;
They curl their lips and wag their heads, saying,
“He trusted in the Lord, let him deliver him;
let him rescue him, if he delights in him.
And later in the psalm, the Contemporary English Version of the psalm reads:
You, God, have left me to die in the dirt.
Sounds to me from those verses like a cry of despair.
But take a look at how Psalm 22 reads over all. It’s one of many examples in the scriptures that one-verse proofing proves nothing.
Most of Psalm 22 moves quickly, two to three verses at a time, from cries of utter desperation to prayers of complete trust.
Here are a few of the verses I purposely skipped:
Yet (a crucial word, it seems, in the scriptures) …
Yet you are the Holy One,
enthroned upon the praises of Israel.
Our forefathers put their trust in you;
they trusted, and you delivered them.
They cried out to you and were delivered
they trusted in you and were not put to shame.
Then, a few more verses of despair ... after which we read:
Yet you are he who took me out of the womb,
and kept me safe upon my mother’s breast.
I have been entrusted to you ever since I was born,
you were my God when I was still in my mother’s womb.
Be not far from me, for trouble is near,
and there is none to help.
Utter despair or complete trust?
For me … both.
After all, Jesus was truly human.
I want to tell you something that, for most of my adult life, has been crucial to my relationship with Jesus.
Before doing so, however, let me say this: I can’t think of a time in my life that I did not believe in God in Jesus. I have always believed in … and I set my heart today on God in Jesus.
For most of my adult life, however, it has been crucial to my relationship with Jesus to think that Jesus lived his life without knowing how things were going to turn out … that he was not an actor who knew the ending of the script. I believe in the true man in Jesus. I set my heart on Jesus as true man.
Because Jesus was truly human, he had no more (and no less) reason to trust God than you and I do. He had the tradition. He had the scriptures. It seems he knew them well. He had friends. He had prayer.
Those who wrote the gospels (after the resurrection) knew then more than Jesus (when he walked his way of the cross) about how things would turn out. That is crucial for me. Otherwise, I would have to believe Jesus, when he suffered and died, was simply a good actor. And if I believed Jesus were an actor, I could not believe that he understands how I think, how I feel, how I can live through hills and valley of prayer and despair … how I struggle to understand myself.
Though I set my heart on both the man and the God in Jesus, though it is crucial to know in faith that the man on the cross was God, believing that Jesus did not know he was God has in crucial ways meant more to me than believing he was.
The man on the cross did not know he was God. But he trusted, in the face of evidence to the contrary, that God loved him, that God delighted in him. The God on the cross loved the man on the crorss – passing over with him through death to new life.
On this Good Friday, may we know God’s incredible love for us. Let God love you. Let God love you.
Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.
The Fifth Word from the Cross
The Rev. Canon Joel Atkinson
"I thirst." John 19:28
there are all kinds of thirst.
the thirst of one in an arid place
a place where lips
and skin are parched
a place where the tongue clings
to roof of one’s mouth
jesus considering what he’d been through
had to have felt deeply
this kind of physical thirst
those who offered vinegar
to quench his thirst
obviously thought so
“I THIRST!”
i believe his thirst was deeper
than this parching kind of thirst
perhaps he thirsted for all
his dying so young
would cause him to miss in life
no wife
no family
never the satisfaction of living to a ripe old age
surrounded by those he loved
jesus knew authorities
both national and roman
viewed him a dangerous man
possibly a revolutionary
a trouble maker
an upsetter of the apple cart
maybe even a terrorist threat
jesus had to have known
humiliation and execution
were in the realm of possibility
jesus cried in dread and fear of all the things
other mortals might make him bear
what went wrong or is this the way it was supposed to be?
“I THIRST!”
yet though existential dreads and losses were felt
i believe his deepest thirsty cry
was of another sort
“My God my God why have you forsaken me!”
maybe jesus in his anguished thirsty cry
sought assurance from god
his life had not been in vain
abandoned by pledgers of allegiance to his ministry
now suffering excruciating mental
physical and
spiritual pain
he must have ask
where’s the father he so loved
and ever sought to mind?
what went wrong or is this the way it was supposed to be?
“I THIRST!”
yet I believe there was even a deeper kind of thirst he felt
as his life lost focus
in the seeming denial of all his life had meant
in the anguish he personally felt
he cried forgiveness
in an incomprehensible leap of faith
‘cause from his lips issued hope
to another suffering
upon a neighboring bloody tool of death
“Today you will be with me in paradise.”
a cry of thirst for life
not just for that dying thief
but in that affirmation of hope
in the midst death
for that thief
himself
and all of us as well
what went wrong or is this the way it was supposed to be?
“I THIRST!”
one more thirst remains
he thirsted
for all who knew his life
for all who’d heard his words
for all who’d witnessed his deeds
for all who’d met him
for even those who knew him not
that they will come to know the loving Father he had known
that they would seek
to make real the love of God they’d felt
and that all God’s children
with that thief and himself
would finally and most fully
be enfolded into the eternal life of God.
The Sixth Word from the Cross
The Ven Richard I. Cluett
"When Jesus had received the wine, he said, ‘It is finished.’ Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit." John 19:30
He gave it up. He gave it over. The work of Jesus of Nazareth is done. All is finished, but nothing is lost. His spirit rests on you and me and the church.
There does come a time, doesn’t it when we need to say, “It’s over.” “Let it go.” “Give it up.” “Move on.” “It is finished.”
“On the seventh day God finished the work he had done, and on the seventh day he rested from all the work he had done.” Genesis 2:2
It’s time to put away childish things and grow up, childhood is finished. A marriage is begun, being priority number one is finished. The job is finished. A relationship ends, it is finished. Our abilities are impaired and it’s time to stop driving, it is finished. Eventually we will die, it will be finished.
Acknowledge the inevitable? Perhaps. Recognize reality? Perhaps. Admit to our finitude? Perhaps. For everything there is a season? Perhaps.
How do we do it, though? That is the question. How do we let it go? How do we give it up? How do we move on? How do we finish?
Do we rage and storm? Sturm and drang? Curse God and die? Or do we go gently into that good night, that future, that next stage?
All finishes contain the opportunity to trust – or not? Finishing school and going out into the work-a-day world. Finishing work and going into retirement? Finishing this life. All are opportunities for trust and for grace. Endings are part of all life.
It is because Jesus finished that we can end whatever needs ending safely, with trust and grace. Jesus has given us his spirit, and one another, and hope, and eternal life and, and, and, and...
It is safe to say, it is okay to say, “It is finished” when it is finished.
The Seventh Word from the Cross
The Rev. Canon Anne Kitch
"Father, into your hands I commend my spirit." Luke 23:46
I don’t know what it is like to die. I don’t know if there is that moment, when you are being killed, that you realize that you are going to die and that it is all going to end. I don’t know if there is a conscious moment when you can make one final act of will, one final choice to let go. Father, into your hands I commend my spirit. The final action of Jesus on the cross, Jesus’ final choice, is to let go. But it is more than that. It is to give. His final act is to give himself, to offer himself, to place himself in God’s hands. Jesus dying act is to entrust himself to a loving father. Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.
Into your hands. What are God’s hands like?
It’s elements were unremarkable: a basin, a pitcher of water, and a towel. As we celebrated Maundy Thursday here in this Cathedral last night, a father and child came forward for the ritual foot washing. The father sat in a wooden chapel chair as the child knelt at his feet. They were unobserved by most in the congregation who were singing a hymn at the time. The father placed his bare feet in the basin, the young child carefully poured warm water on them, then picked them up one by one and held them in her small hands. She gently washed each one, intent on her task. This was not a symbolic act for her. There was nothing perfunctory in her movements. Her hands held his feet fast. He gave himself over into her care. It was loving. It was safe. It was redeeming.
Into your hands I commend my spirit. These words on the lips of Jesus are quoted from a psalm (Psalm 31:5). What are God’s hands like?
God’s hands, which lovingly created the world:
In the beginning, O Lord, you laid the foundations of the earth and the heavens are the work of your hands (Psalm 102:25)
God’s hands, which faithfully reach for us:
The works of his hands are faithfulness and justice, all his commandments are sure (Psalm 111.7)
God’s hands, which never let go:
My soul clings to you, your right hand holds me fast (Psalm 63:8)
Into your hands, I commend my spirit, for you have redeemed me, O Lord O God of truth, the psalmist prays. Into your hand I commend my spirit, Jesus prays.
Into your hands.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Maundy Thursday: Towel & Basin
The Ven. Richard I. Cluett
April 13, 2006
Exodus 12:1-14a 1 Corinthians 11:23-26 John 13:1-15
How is this night different from all others? It is the night Jesus gathers with his disciples for the last time. It is the night he gives new meaning, eternal significance, to the meal they share. The bread and wine are what will connect his disciples to him and to one another forever. It will be their strength. It will be their nourishment. It will be their bond. It will be his continuing presence with them.
How is this night the same as the others? It is the same group of disciples that Jesus has been with for his entire journey toward Jerusalem. Along with the un-named women, they are Simon Peter, James son of Zebedee, John son of Zebedee, Andrew, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, James son of Alphaeus, Thaddeus, Simon the Zealot, and Judas Iscariot.
They are the same bickering, quarrelsome, contentious group of people they have always been. Apparently looming crisis and confrontation do not inform their behavior. They are arguing and debating many things, including questions of status (who will be number 1 in the absence of Jesus), clueless as to what is about to happen and about it’s meaning for them and for the world.
Into that familiar disputatious scene comes Jesus, who “having loved his own who were in the world loves them to the end.” (God alone knows why), Jesus comes with one last teaching, one last demonstration of the nature of God’s kingdom he is bringing into being, one last act which incarnates – which brings to life right there and then – the purpose of his life and ministry and the nature of God and God’s kingdom.
He does it by washing their feet in a humble and humbling act of love. “The only way to teach the disciples the reality of the kingdom was to get down on his knees and wash their feet.”
The Gospel of John was written decades after the death and resurrection of Jesus to a church that was polarized with division, with contention, with great disputes about who was more right, more righteous, had the best take on the truth, knew best what God wanted for people, for the world and for the church. It seems disciples will be disciples, will be disciples no matter in what era they live. The gospel writer obviously felt that the great divisions of the world and the church needed to hear again this final teaching from Jesus that the kingdom of God is defined by love as he has loved, and by servanthood as he has served.
And tonight we hear again this message addressed to us, to our world, and to our church. Of course, things are much different today. Not much self-righteousness, not much “my way or the highway”; not much division in the church, except for a little among the roman, and the orthodox, and the anglican, and the protestant denominations; a little between the evangelicals and the social gospel crowd; a little between the Episcopal Church USA and the conservative churches of the Anglican Communion, etc., etc. etc.
In the hopes that the message, the commandment to love and serve, will work a little deeper into our personal and communal awareness, we watch once again as “Jesus got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.”
We hear him say again, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord--and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.”
This self-offering and servanthood is not what the people of that time - including the disciples - expected from God, from the Messiah of God, or from the man Jesus. It is not what people from this day and time expect, either. People do not expect the power of God Almighty to be shown in acceptance of all sorts and conditions of people, especially the lonely, outcast, the sick,
The tired, the poor,
The huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse on our teeming shore.
The homeless, tempest-tossed, the illegal aliens.
They do not expect power to be patient in suffering. They do not expect power to be an offered love. They do not expect power to have to - or be able to - endure. They do not expect power to serve others.
The Jesus who offers himself, the Jesus who serves others, the Jesus who goes to the Cross is the truth of God. God who loves, of¬fers and serves. It has been said "The crucified Jesus is the only accurate picture of God the world has ever seen."
Bill Lewellis holds dear a vision of how Jesus will greet each of us when we arrive in heaven. Tired and worn, Jesus greets us with a towel tied around him and a basin and water to wash and refresh, as he says “you are welcome to the banquet that has been prepared for you from the foundation of the world.
What we have been given by his example of serving, what we have been given by his continuing offering of himself in the Eucharist, will help us. Because if God was in Jesus, we must come to terms with a God for whom it is natural to be humble, compassionate, serving, and at risk - for others. And take his nature upon ourselves.
And so as mark of our new nature I invite you to humble yourself to receive an act of love as some one bathes and refreshes your feet and to offer that act of love to another.
We will then go to the table to participate in the supper that unites us with Jesus and with all believers throughout eternity as share the bread and the cup.
I pray that thereby we will be empowered to bring his love and his servanthood to a suffering world and a divided church and to those who have not experienced his love or who do not yet know him.
April 13, 2006
Exodus 12:1-14a 1 Corinthians 11:23-26 John 13:1-15
How is this night different from all others? It is the night Jesus gathers with his disciples for the last time. It is the night he gives new meaning, eternal significance, to the meal they share. The bread and wine are what will connect his disciples to him and to one another forever. It will be their strength. It will be their nourishment. It will be their bond. It will be his continuing presence with them.
How is this night the same as the others? It is the same group of disciples that Jesus has been with for his entire journey toward Jerusalem. Along with the un-named women, they are Simon Peter, James son of Zebedee, John son of Zebedee, Andrew, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, James son of Alphaeus, Thaddeus, Simon the Zealot, and Judas Iscariot.
They are the same bickering, quarrelsome, contentious group of people they have always been. Apparently looming crisis and confrontation do not inform their behavior. They are arguing and debating many things, including questions of status (who will be number 1 in the absence of Jesus), clueless as to what is about to happen and about it’s meaning for them and for the world.
Into that familiar disputatious scene comes Jesus, who “having loved his own who were in the world loves them to the end.” (God alone knows why), Jesus comes with one last teaching, one last demonstration of the nature of God’s kingdom he is bringing into being, one last act which incarnates – which brings to life right there and then – the purpose of his life and ministry and the nature of God and God’s kingdom.
He does it by washing their feet in a humble and humbling act of love. “The only way to teach the disciples the reality of the kingdom was to get down on his knees and wash their feet.”
The Gospel of John was written decades after the death and resurrection of Jesus to a church that was polarized with division, with contention, with great disputes about who was more right, more righteous, had the best take on the truth, knew best what God wanted for people, for the world and for the church. It seems disciples will be disciples, will be disciples no matter in what era they live. The gospel writer obviously felt that the great divisions of the world and the church needed to hear again this final teaching from Jesus that the kingdom of God is defined by love as he has loved, and by servanthood as he has served.
And tonight we hear again this message addressed to us, to our world, and to our church. Of course, things are much different today. Not much self-righteousness, not much “my way or the highway”; not much division in the church, except for a little among the roman, and the orthodox, and the anglican, and the protestant denominations; a little between the evangelicals and the social gospel crowd; a little between the Episcopal Church USA and the conservative churches of the Anglican Communion, etc., etc. etc.
In the hopes that the message, the commandment to love and serve, will work a little deeper into our personal and communal awareness, we watch once again as “Jesus got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.”
We hear him say again, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord--and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.”
This self-offering and servanthood is not what the people of that time - including the disciples - expected from God, from the Messiah of God, or from the man Jesus. It is not what people from this day and time expect, either. People do not expect the power of God Almighty to be shown in acceptance of all sorts and conditions of people, especially the lonely, outcast, the sick,
The tired, the poor,
The huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse on our teeming shore.
The homeless, tempest-tossed, the illegal aliens.
They do not expect power to be patient in suffering. They do not expect power to be an offered love. They do not expect power to have to - or be able to - endure. They do not expect power to serve others.
The Jesus who offers himself, the Jesus who serves others, the Jesus who goes to the Cross is the truth of God. God who loves, of¬fers and serves. It has been said "The crucified Jesus is the only accurate picture of God the world has ever seen."
Bill Lewellis holds dear a vision of how Jesus will greet each of us when we arrive in heaven. Tired and worn, Jesus greets us with a towel tied around him and a basin and water to wash and refresh, as he says “you are welcome to the banquet that has been prepared for you from the foundation of the world.
What we have been given by his example of serving, what we have been given by his continuing offering of himself in the Eucharist, will help us. Because if God was in Jesus, we must come to terms with a God for whom it is natural to be humble, compassionate, serving, and at risk - for others. And take his nature upon ourselves.
And so as mark of our new nature I invite you to humble yourself to receive an act of love as some one bathes and refreshes your feet and to offer that act of love to another.
We will then go to the table to participate in the supper that unites us with Jesus and with all believers throughout eternity as share the bread and the cup.
I pray that thereby we will be empowered to bring his love and his servanthood to a suffering world and a divided church and to those who have not experienced his love or who do not yet know him.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Sunday of the Passion ~ Palm Sunday: Who needs the Cross?
The Ven. Richard I Cluett
April 9, 2006
Mark 11:1-11 Isaiah 50:4-9a Philippians 2:5-11 Mark 14:1-15:47
This is quite a day. We go from the soaring celebration high of the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem to the grim horror of his passion and death on the cross to the grace of Holy Communion. It is almost manic. Vaulted high. Dashed low. Lifted for communion. And then sent away.
Our time today and all this week can be simply a time for remembering what happened way back then; engaging in a kind of vicarious empathy. But, there is a danger in approaching this week as a remembering of a historical event, rather than it being an existential reality we participate in. We would separate ourselves from those people back there in history who would do some things which we would never do.
I believe that the hardest work of Holy Week is not to identify ourselves with the Jewish authorities or crowds or the Roman soldiers who did the deeds or the disiples who left. I believe the hardest work of Holy Week is to confront our need of the Cross.
It would have been so much better if redemption, if salvation could be accomplished with less pain, less passion, less horror. That would be my choice. Do I really need the Cross? Do you really need the Cross? Does it really have to get to that?
There is a story about an Italian village in Lombardy by the name of Bergamo. In 1630, a great plague hit the inhabitants of Bergamo and its surroundings: about one half of the population died – about 90, 000 people. Those who were left could not keep up with burying the dead. The conditions were so bad that the inhabitants eventually gave up any semblance of civilized living, any semblance of faith. Anarchy reigned, immorality prevailed and there was no sign of God.
Into this living hell came a young monk, who walked to the church and rang the bell to gather the people.
He spoke to them in this way, “Jesus was on the cross. He looked down on the yelling, mocking mob for whom he was giving his life. He was about to say, “Father, forgive them…” but anger overtook him and he didn’t say it.
“He tore free His feet over the heads of the nails, and He clenched His hands round the nails and tore them out, so that the arms of the cross bent like a bow. Then He leaped down upon the earth and snatched up His garment so that the dice rolled down the slope of Golgotha, and flung it round himself with the wrath of a king and ascended into heaven.
“And the cross stood empty, and the great work of redemption was never fulfilled. There is no mediator between God and us; there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross; there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross, there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross!"
“As the monk uttered the last words he leaned forward over the multitude and with his lips and hands hurled the last words over their heads. A groan of agony went through the church, and in the corners they had begun to sob.
“Then a man pushed forward with raised, threatening hands, pale as a corpse, and shouted: "Monk, monk, you must nail Him on the cross again, you must!" and behind him there was a hoarse, hissing sound: "Yea, yea, crucify, crucify Him!" And from all mouths, threatening, beseeching, peremptory, rose a storm of cries up to the vaulted roof: "Crucify, crucify Him!"
“And clear and serene a single quivering voice said: Crucify Him!”*
It seems we need the Cross. Some things in us need to die. Some things in us need to be redeemed. Some things in us need to be forgiven. Some things in us need to be washed clean. Some things in us need to be born again. Some things need in us to be recreated.
Why do you need the Cross of Christ – this year?
God alone knows fully why Jesus endured the Cross, but he did. He was lifted high upon the cross to draw the whole world to himself. He was lifted high on the cross to draw you to himself. And because he was, in the words of that wonderful anthem, “Ye are washed. Ye are sanctified. Ye are justified… in the name of the Lord Jesus.”**
Because Jesus let himself be lifted high upon the Cross, to take off on a wonderful preacher: “The lame will walk and the dumb will speak and the deaf will hear and the blind will see... the self will be dominated and war will be outdated and crime will be devastated and sickness will be eliminated and mean hearts will be subjugated and hypocrisy will be decimated and pestilence will be fumigated and barriers will be eradicated and Satan will be annihilated and Christ will be coronated and the saints … they will be elevated.”***
And because we are washed in the blood of the lamb… we can live truly and wholly in the presence of the living Christ who gave himself up for us on the cross of Golgotha, and in the power of God, in this life and in the life to come where the fullness of God’s glory and the wonder of the work of Jesus will finally be revealed for us all to see and know.
So the question for the week ahead is “Why do you need the Cross of Christ – this year?”
I pray we can say Amen to the work of this Holy Week.
Amen.
* Told by Jens Peter Jacobsen
** Greater Love hath no Man by John Ireland
*** Howard Thurman
April 9, 2006
Mark 11:1-11 Isaiah 50:4-9a Philippians 2:5-11 Mark 14:1-15:47
This is quite a day. We go from the soaring celebration high of the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem to the grim horror of his passion and death on the cross to the grace of Holy Communion. It is almost manic. Vaulted high. Dashed low. Lifted for communion. And then sent away.
Our time today and all this week can be simply a time for remembering what happened way back then; engaging in a kind of vicarious empathy. But, there is a danger in approaching this week as a remembering of a historical event, rather than it being an existential reality we participate in. We would separate ourselves from those people back there in history who would do some things which we would never do.
I believe that the hardest work of Holy Week is not to identify ourselves with the Jewish authorities or crowds or the Roman soldiers who did the deeds or the disiples who left. I believe the hardest work of Holy Week is to confront our need of the Cross.
It would have been so much better if redemption, if salvation could be accomplished with less pain, less passion, less horror. That would be my choice. Do I really need the Cross? Do you really need the Cross? Does it really have to get to that?
There is a story about an Italian village in Lombardy by the name of Bergamo. In 1630, a great plague hit the inhabitants of Bergamo and its surroundings: about one half of the population died – about 90, 000 people. Those who were left could not keep up with burying the dead. The conditions were so bad that the inhabitants eventually gave up any semblance of civilized living, any semblance of faith. Anarchy reigned, immorality prevailed and there was no sign of God.
Into this living hell came a young monk, who walked to the church and rang the bell to gather the people.
He spoke to them in this way, “Jesus was on the cross. He looked down on the yelling, mocking mob for whom he was giving his life. He was about to say, “Father, forgive them…” but anger overtook him and he didn’t say it.
“He tore free His feet over the heads of the nails, and He clenched His hands round the nails and tore them out, so that the arms of the cross bent like a bow. Then He leaped down upon the earth and snatched up His garment so that the dice rolled down the slope of Golgotha, and flung it round himself with the wrath of a king and ascended into heaven.
“And the cross stood empty, and the great work of redemption was never fulfilled. There is no mediator between God and us; there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross; there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross, there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross!"
“As the monk uttered the last words he leaned forward over the multitude and with his lips and hands hurled the last words over their heads. A groan of agony went through the church, and in the corners they had begun to sob.
“Then a man pushed forward with raised, threatening hands, pale as a corpse, and shouted: "Monk, monk, you must nail Him on the cross again, you must!" and behind him there was a hoarse, hissing sound: "Yea, yea, crucify, crucify Him!" And from all mouths, threatening, beseeching, peremptory, rose a storm of cries up to the vaulted roof: "Crucify, crucify Him!"
“And clear and serene a single quivering voice said: Crucify Him!”*
It seems we need the Cross. Some things in us need to die. Some things in us need to be redeemed. Some things in us need to be forgiven. Some things in us need to be washed clean. Some things in us need to be born again. Some things need in us to be recreated.
Why do you need the Cross of Christ – this year?
God alone knows fully why Jesus endured the Cross, but he did. He was lifted high upon the cross to draw the whole world to himself. He was lifted high on the cross to draw you to himself. And because he was, in the words of that wonderful anthem, “Ye are washed. Ye are sanctified. Ye are justified… in the name of the Lord Jesus.”**
Because Jesus let himself be lifted high upon the Cross, to take off on a wonderful preacher: “The lame will walk and the dumb will speak and the deaf will hear and the blind will see... the self will be dominated and war will be outdated and crime will be devastated and sickness will be eliminated and mean hearts will be subjugated and hypocrisy will be decimated and pestilence will be fumigated and barriers will be eradicated and Satan will be annihilated and Christ will be coronated and the saints … they will be elevated.”***
And because we are washed in the blood of the lamb… we can live truly and wholly in the presence of the living Christ who gave himself up for us on the cross of Golgotha, and in the power of God, in this life and in the life to come where the fullness of God’s glory and the wonder of the work of Jesus will finally be revealed for us all to see and know.
So the question for the week ahead is “Why do you need the Cross of Christ – this year?”
I pray we can say Amen to the work of this Holy Week.
Amen.
* Told by Jens Peter Jacobsen
** Greater Love hath no Man by John Ireland
*** Howard Thurman
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Lent 5: Seeds
The Rev. Anne E. Kitch
April 2, 2006
John 12:20-33
You can hear it, see it, smell it--especially this morning. Evidence of new growth is all around us. Flowering trees burst into bloom almost as we watch. But can you remember the seed? Think of a seed--an apple seed, a bean seed, an acorn. These are familiar. But do you know what other seeds look like? Could you recognize a morning glory seed or a daisy seed or the seed of a willow tree? Think of a grain of wheat. None of these seeds look like the plant they will become. They are not even remotely close in size. Unless they come in a nice little packet from the seed store with a picture on front, how do we know what the seeds will become? It is almost inconceivable. Imagine, all that any plant needs to become what it is, to grow into complete maturity, to become a gorgeous flower, a tasty fruit, or a sturdy tree is contained in that tiny seed. I can hardly get my mind around it.
Most of us would admit to some basic seed knowledge. We know seeds grow into plants. We know they need soil and water and sunshine to becomes those plants. But what do we really know? Think about just what creation is up to at this very moment. How does that seed become a morning glory? How does that single grain of wheat become a new stalk with a full head of grain? “Truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies it remains just a single grain.” There we have it. This miracle process of seed to sequoia begins with death.
First the seed must be covered with soil. Once in the ground, water breaches the outer husk. Moisture works its way into the seed, swelling its particles until the seed itself bursts open, splitting its skin as a tiny shoot of new life pushes its way up toward the sun. Breaking through the earth, even moving around obstacles this shoot keeps growing to become stem, leaves, flower, or trunk, branches, fruit. All from a tiny seed. But the seed has to die. It has to be crushed and split open before the new life can spring forth. It has to cease to be a seed and become the plant its genetic code is set to be. Without death there is no new life. Where would spring be without this process and new growth? What if the seeds just remained…well, seeds?
“Truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain. But if it dies, it bears much fruit.” Without death, there is no new life. Jesus of course is talking about more than botany. He senses that the time is near, the time for the completion of his work. He calls this time the glorification. He senses his own death, but it is more than that. He invites his disciples, invites us, to place ourselves in the cycle of death and life. If we would be his followers we must be with Jesus wherever he is. We must follow him into death.
What if we are the seeds? And what would our lives be like if we remained seeds? If we kept our full potential locked away, were unable to grow? And what is our full potential? We do not come in pretty colored packets showing a picture of what we can be. In our baptismal rite the parents and godparents are asked. “Will you by your prayers and witness help this child to grow into the full stature of Christ?” The full stature of Christ--that is what each of us carries the potential for. Within each of us is the possibility to become completely what God created us to be. Unique. Complete. Redeemed. I don’t know about you, but I have a lot of growing and maturing to do before I reach the full stature of Christ. I’m not even sure what that would look like.
If a seed were conscious, might it not think of itself as complete? Might it not believe it was all that it can be? But we know better. We know more. We know that the seed is only potential. But do we know this about ourselves? How far along are any of us to reaching the full stature of Christ? Are we seeds without imagination, thinking we are what we are? To contemplate these things is to enter into mystery. The mystery of seeds, the mystery of life, the mystery of us. And mystery is a fine place to be. As a church we revel in mystery. In our church year as well as the cycle of seasons it is a time for mystery. We are approaching Easter. Soon we enter into Holy Week and the Triduum, the great three holy days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil. In the ritual and practice of these days we enter fully into the cycle of death and rebirth. In the ritual and practice of these days we, as a congregation and a people, allow ourselves to fall into the earth and die.
We are all God’s seeds. All of us here. How can we find out what this community garden will be? What fruit will it produce? Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain. But if it dies it bears much fruit. We enter in Holy Week as a community. We walk the way of the cross as a community. Do we want to be a community of seeds safely stored, or are we willing to die, to lose our life, in order to burst into bloom? What kind of garden might we be? what kind of fruit of ministry and mission might we produce? How can we truly know who we are as a community if we don’t walk the way of the cross? Or do we think this is it--this is who we are--all that we are. I don’t know about you, but I hope I am not my finished product yet. I hope I am more. I hope this community is not the finished product yet. I hope it is more. I hope the world, creation, all of humanity is not a finished product yet. I hope it is more. It is troubling to die--even Jesus says so, “Now my soul is troubled, and what should I say ‘Father, save me from this hour?’” Where would we be if our gospel ended there? If Jesus had said yes, save me, I’ll stop here. But Jesus said, “No, it is for this reason I have come to this hour.” He will, he did, fall into the earth. He will, he did, die. He will be, he was, broken and crushed. And afterward? “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth will draw all people to myself.” Jesus chooses glory over the current life he has. The glory of the tiny seed producing a garden. The glory of the trees bursting into bloom. The glory of a resurrected world. Should we ask God to save us from this death?
I would like you to imagine with me for a moment. Here is a packet of seeds. I have one for each of you. I cannot tell you what they will become. They are no longer in their pretty packets from the seed store. You will have to plant them to find out. And as you plant them, as you allow them to fall into the earth and die, ask yourself this question. Are you content to remain a seed, or our you willing to risk some brokenness and allow the waters of your baptism to split you open and stretch out new shoots towards the sun? Are you willing to burst though the familiar husk, the definition of self, in which you have been enveloped? Are we as a congregation willing to risk death and the waters of baptism to see who we might be for the sake of God and Christ’s kingdom? Who are we? Who can we be? Shall we find out?
April 2, 2006
John 12:20-33
You can hear it, see it, smell it--especially this morning. Evidence of new growth is all around us. Flowering trees burst into bloom almost as we watch. But can you remember the seed? Think of a seed--an apple seed, a bean seed, an acorn. These are familiar. But do you know what other seeds look like? Could you recognize a morning glory seed or a daisy seed or the seed of a willow tree? Think of a grain of wheat. None of these seeds look like the plant they will become. They are not even remotely close in size. Unless they come in a nice little packet from the seed store with a picture on front, how do we know what the seeds will become? It is almost inconceivable. Imagine, all that any plant needs to become what it is, to grow into complete maturity, to become a gorgeous flower, a tasty fruit, or a sturdy tree is contained in that tiny seed. I can hardly get my mind around it.
Most of us would admit to some basic seed knowledge. We know seeds grow into plants. We know they need soil and water and sunshine to becomes those plants. But what do we really know? Think about just what creation is up to at this very moment. How does that seed become a morning glory? How does that single grain of wheat become a new stalk with a full head of grain? “Truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies it remains just a single grain.” There we have it. This miracle process of seed to sequoia begins with death.
First the seed must be covered with soil. Once in the ground, water breaches the outer husk. Moisture works its way into the seed, swelling its particles until the seed itself bursts open, splitting its skin as a tiny shoot of new life pushes its way up toward the sun. Breaking through the earth, even moving around obstacles this shoot keeps growing to become stem, leaves, flower, or trunk, branches, fruit. All from a tiny seed. But the seed has to die. It has to be crushed and split open before the new life can spring forth. It has to cease to be a seed and become the plant its genetic code is set to be. Without death there is no new life. Where would spring be without this process and new growth? What if the seeds just remained…well, seeds?
“Truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain. But if it dies, it bears much fruit.” Without death, there is no new life. Jesus of course is talking about more than botany. He senses that the time is near, the time for the completion of his work. He calls this time the glorification. He senses his own death, but it is more than that. He invites his disciples, invites us, to place ourselves in the cycle of death and life. If we would be his followers we must be with Jesus wherever he is. We must follow him into death.
What if we are the seeds? And what would our lives be like if we remained seeds? If we kept our full potential locked away, were unable to grow? And what is our full potential? We do not come in pretty colored packets showing a picture of what we can be. In our baptismal rite the parents and godparents are asked. “Will you by your prayers and witness help this child to grow into the full stature of Christ?” The full stature of Christ--that is what each of us carries the potential for. Within each of us is the possibility to become completely what God created us to be. Unique. Complete. Redeemed. I don’t know about you, but I have a lot of growing and maturing to do before I reach the full stature of Christ. I’m not even sure what that would look like.
If a seed were conscious, might it not think of itself as complete? Might it not believe it was all that it can be? But we know better. We know more. We know that the seed is only potential. But do we know this about ourselves? How far along are any of us to reaching the full stature of Christ? Are we seeds without imagination, thinking we are what we are? To contemplate these things is to enter into mystery. The mystery of seeds, the mystery of life, the mystery of us. And mystery is a fine place to be. As a church we revel in mystery. In our church year as well as the cycle of seasons it is a time for mystery. We are approaching Easter. Soon we enter into Holy Week and the Triduum, the great three holy days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil. In the ritual and practice of these days we enter fully into the cycle of death and rebirth. In the ritual and practice of these days we, as a congregation and a people, allow ourselves to fall into the earth and die.
We are all God’s seeds. All of us here. How can we find out what this community garden will be? What fruit will it produce? Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain. But if it dies it bears much fruit. We enter in Holy Week as a community. We walk the way of the cross as a community. Do we want to be a community of seeds safely stored, or are we willing to die, to lose our life, in order to burst into bloom? What kind of garden might we be? what kind of fruit of ministry and mission might we produce? How can we truly know who we are as a community if we don’t walk the way of the cross? Or do we think this is it--this is who we are--all that we are. I don’t know about you, but I hope I am not my finished product yet. I hope I am more. I hope this community is not the finished product yet. I hope it is more. I hope the world, creation, all of humanity is not a finished product yet. I hope it is more. It is troubling to die--even Jesus says so, “Now my soul is troubled, and what should I say ‘Father, save me from this hour?’” Where would we be if our gospel ended there? If Jesus had said yes, save me, I’ll stop here. But Jesus said, “No, it is for this reason I have come to this hour.” He will, he did, fall into the earth. He will, he did, die. He will be, he was, broken and crushed. And afterward? “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth will draw all people to myself.” Jesus chooses glory over the current life he has. The glory of the tiny seed producing a garden. The glory of the trees bursting into bloom. The glory of a resurrected world. Should we ask God to save us from this death?
I would like you to imagine with me for a moment. Here is a packet of seeds. I have one for each of you. I cannot tell you what they will become. They are no longer in their pretty packets from the seed store. You will have to plant them to find out. And as you plant them, as you allow them to fall into the earth and die, ask yourself this question. Are you content to remain a seed, or our you willing to risk some brokenness and allow the waters of your baptism to split you open and stretch out new shoots towards the sun? Are you willing to burst though the familiar husk, the definition of self, in which you have been enveloped? Are we as a congregation willing to risk death and the waters of baptism to see who we might be for the sake of God and Christ’s kingdom? Who are we? Who can we be? Shall we find out?
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