Burials (and the denial of death?)

As often happens in the life of a pastor, I had two funerals this weekend in quick succession, the first within two hours of my return from vacation in Houston, the second two days later, and today, the burial for the latter. (The cemetery's digging machine was broken this weekend, so it was delayed.) Even though I am in the throes of preparing for Lent (the 40 days leading up to Easter), funerals are a time when we think about Easter. It is a time we remember the promises of baptism, and give thanks for the gift of eternal life, and for our loved one who is now basking in the perpetual light of God. In my mind, funerals - at least those for people who lived long lives of faith and devotion, as both of mine were this weekend - are a time for gratitude and even joy. And that moment when we finally lay to rest this sheep of God's own fold to their final resting place in the ground is one of satisfaction and relief.

But our burial practices don't reflect this very well. It used to be that people played a more active role in the burial of their dead, and as morbid as this may sound, I think that is really important for processing and coming to terms with this loss. Now, you pass the body over to a funeral home, they make your loved one look alive again, but sleeping (although I am always struck by how very still embalmed people look, creepily so) and we surround a beautiful casket with flowers and mementos. While I know this makes the loss easier in the moment, it just seems to deny that this person is dead.

(As a side note, it is interesting how resistant people are to saying the word "dead." "She's passed," we say, or, "He's no longer with us." Would you say that Jesus "passed away"? If we can talk about the Son of God as having died, then why not our loved ones? Dressed up as respect for the dead, it seems to me like one more way to deny what has happened.)

Perhaps the most frustrating part for me on this front is the burial. Liturgically, there is a part in the committal where we are meant to lower the casket into the ground, so that the family and friends of the deceased can actually see and pray this person into his or her final resting place. It is also suggested that everyone throw a handful of dirt on top of the resting casket, thus playing a part in the burial and very physically and ritualistically coming to terms with the fact of it. But very rarely does this actually happen. In fact, quite the opposite. We arrive at the cemetery, where the burial site has been made to look, frankly, quite lovely. Green turf is spread out, covered chairs available for folks who need to sit, flowers brought from the funeral service. Flowers even adorn the top of the casket, which sits suspended over the hole (which you can't really see because it, too, is lined with green turf). We do the service, failing to lower the casket (because it is "too hard" for the family to see that). The funeral home kindly hands out flowers to everyone, which they can keep as a remembrance of the person (until, of course, the flower "passes away" in a couple days), or can leave on top of the casket. It's all very nice and civilized, though there is also a sense of anti-climax. No one ever seems quite sure if they should leave when they can still see the casket.

But then everyone does leave, with the casket still suspended over the grave. And, in some way, the casket is not all that is suspended; also the sense of closure that comes from seeing a body put in its final resting place. Once everyone has left, the casket is lowered, and the trucks and tractors and machines needed to fill in the hole come through and finish the job, with no one there to watch it happen. Even the pile of dirt used to fill the hole is somewhere out of sight, where no one has to see it and realize that this person is going to be buried underneath it. Next time any of the family is there, the body is safely deep underground (they assume).

Don't get me wrong - funeral homes, and especially the ones I work with, do a lovely job of walking with a family through this difficult time. They do their job well. But not watching the burial itself leaves an important part missing. Today for the first time, I actually stayed to the end of this. I don't know why I didn't think to do this before; I will be doing it from now on. I watched them strip away all the green turf so that I could see that there really was a hole in the ground. I saw them carefully lower the casket - I admit this was very moving, even as someone who didn't actually know this woman in life. Even as it was difficult to watch, giving the sense that this door really is closed, I also felt such a strong sense of peace, knowing that those words said at the end of the committal - "Rest eternal grant her, O God, and let light perpetual shine upon her" - really mean something! I prayed her all the way down to the bottom, and continued praying as I watched the other various things that go into closing up a grave. I finally left when the hole was almost completely filled.

The process was fascinating to watch, but it was also very moving. I found myself wondering what the people who do this are like, what they think about it, if they are people of faith. Or is this just a job to them, and a burial is just a routine day at work? I hoped that they had something that they do to honor each unique person, but it didn't really look like it, as they were sort of talking and joking through the whole thing. (Due to a -5 windchill, I admit I watched this from my car, and couldn't hear their words.) I was glad that I had stayed in order to pray this woman all the way to her final resting place. I will be doing this in the future.

So what is the greater good? Making the initial shock of losing someone as smooth and easy to deal with as possible? Or giving them the chance to participate in the burial of their loved one and come to terms with the loss as fully as possible? As I watched the family leave the suspended casket, I imagined being at my own parents' burials (sometime in the distant future, I hope!), and this being my last view of them. As I watched the casket being lowered, I imagined my family member inside, and how I would feel watching this. I admit it would be hard. But harder in the long run, I think, would be a casket suspended just above ground as my final goodbye.

It's something to think about... but something I hope I won't have to deal with personally for a very long time.

Sermon: Why stop hating and start loving (February 23, 2014)

Epiphany 7A

Matthew 5:38-48

            Jim Wallis is a pastor and Christian leader who has been involved for years in urban ministry, living and working in an impoverished area of our nation’s capital. He shares a story about being mugged one day by a gang of teenagers. Three of them were about 15 and one a bit younger, maybe 13. They knocked him down and tried to get his wallet, but he popped right back up. Being a weight-lifter, he is a rather large man, and this was fairly intimidating for the misguided youngsters. A believer in non-violence, Pastor Wallis decided to confront them with words, rather than fight back. He writes, “Instinctively, I began to scold these lost young souls. I told them just to stop it, to stop terrorizing people, to stop such violent behavior in our neighborhood. Finally, I shouted at them, ‘I’m a pastor!’ And I told them if they wanted to try to beat up and rob and pastor, they should come ahead and take their best shot.” Something about what he said convinced them, and they turned and ran. But the youngest kid, as he ran, turned back, and said in a sad voice, “Pastor, ask God for a blessing for me.” Reflecting back, Wallis writes, “He and his friends had just assaulted me. The little one had tried so hard to be one of the big tough guys. Yet he knew he needed a blessing. The young boy knew he was in trouble. I think they all did.”

            Muggings like this happen all the time, every day. But this boy’s comment makes the attacker suddenly three-dimensional. What made him say that? What part of his history, his story, was he tapping that made him turn back to ask the man he had attacked for a blessing? Who is this attacker? He is a person in need, a person in trouble. He is an enemy in need of love, a persecutor in need of prayer.

            These words we hear today from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount – “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” – are familiar to us, so familiar, perhaps, that they lose their punch. We hear them and either say, “Yes, yes, I know, love my enemies,” but don’t take the next step of actually doing it, or we hear them and think, “That sounds good, Jesus, but that just doesn’t fly in this world. I can’t turn the other cheek and still get ahead in life. I can’t love my enemies, because then they will take advantage of me. So it’s a nice idea, but really, come on. Who are we kidding?”

            I suspect another reason we gloss over these words, and I am speaking personally here, is that we think, “Well, I don’t have any enemies.” I’m a pretty agreeable and forgiving person, after all, and while I have not waltzed through life without an argument now and then, or even a prolonged conflict, or a frustration with someone, I would never go so far as to say I hate these people, or that they are my enemies. These are awfully strong words.

            So perhaps it’s those words – “enemy” and “hate” – that need rethinking. Instead, let’s think: what person, or group of people, or type of people do you find most difficult to love? Maybe you find it difficult to love… Michael Dunn, or William Spengler. Or, political leaders who abuse their power. Or, people who abuse the welfare system, who refuse to get a job and instead just mooch off of others’ tax dollars. Or, the kid who has been bullying your kid at school – or that kid’s parents for letting them! Or, that person at work who took that promotion that you deserved, and now flaunts it to everyone. Or, I have a friend who likes to say, “The only people I’m bigoted about are bigots. I can’t stand people who hate people.” Hmm, now there is something I can relate to. I hate haters, too!

            Who do you find to be difficult to love? That’s the question that helps us take to heart Jesus’ challenging words. First, we need to identify who the people are that Jesus is talking about, for us personally, when he says to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us, and to realize that we are not, actually, without what Jesus’ calls “enemies.” So if we have enemies, than what is our hold up? Why are these words so difficult to take to heart? Why don’t we just stop hating people and start loving them?

Maybe a better question is, why wouldn’t we want to stop hating them? Perhaps it is because there is a certain satisfaction in hating someone or something. Last week, when we talked about anger, we observed that anger can sometimes bring some excitement and satisfaction in the moment, because it gets up our adrenaline and makes us feel self-righteous, and like the better person. Hatred can be the same – it feels good to tell ourselves that “I am a better person than that person.” So then, if we take steps to stop hating someone, two things might happen. We might be forced to notice our own shortcomings. Or, when we have to let down our guard, and might find that our hate is actually just a mask to hide what is more properly named, our fear.

And when we recognize that, well, then we have to deal with our shortcomings and our fears, and this can feel very vulnerable. Suddenly what we had previously been able to peg on someone else reveals an insecurity that we actually have with ourselves.  To leave it there feels bad, but to deal with it is so very hard. Resorting to hatred is sometimes a much easier option.

As many of you know, Michael and I are currently in a musical, and we’re at the point now where we are trying to become our characters. The question we have to ask ourselves is, “What is my motivation in this scene?” What about my character would make him or her behave this way? This is a helpful question to ask as a Christian, as well. What is motivating me, as a Christian, to love and pray for my enemies? Why bother? I can think of all kinds of psychologically sound motivations for it. Love your enemies because hate is bad for your emotional and mental health. Love them because spending that energy hating gives them power over you. Love them because it proves you are the better person. Love them because loving feels better than hating, and loving will make you feel better about yourself. Love them because, as Ghandi famously put it, “An eye for an eye makes everyone blind.”

But the truth is, Jesus doesn’t offer any of these motivations. The motivation is in the last verse of the passage we hear today: “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” Sounds like a steep demand, no? But it is not so much demand as it is promise. See, that word that is translated as “perfect” has a richer meaning in Greek than in our English translation. It really means to come into yourself, to become what you are meant to be, who God intended you to be. Be perfect, as God is perfect.

And who did God create us to be? God created us to be beloved children of God, blessed and dripping wet with God’s grace. We just are those things, already. And when we take those difficult steps to love and pray for our enemies, we are living into that identity that God already promised to us: living as beloved, forgiven children of God, eager and equipped to share that promise with others.

In a moment, I’m going to say a prayer, as I usually do at the end of sermons. I will leave a space for you to name the people in your life whom you find particularly difficult to love. You can say their names aloud if you like, or say them in your heart for only God to hear. Whichever way you pray, I encourage you not to let this be the last prayer you offer for them this week. Name that person or those people in your prayers all throughout this week, lifting to God prayers for them, for their families, for their well-being. Pray for understanding about their particular struggles and challenges so that you might find a way to sympathize with them, rather than criticize them. Pray for love to find a way to make itself known in your relationship with them. Now, brothers and sisters in Christ, let us pray…

Gracious and loving God, there are people in our lives whom we find easy to love, and we give you thanks for them. But there are also some people we find more difficult to love, and difficult to understand. We name those people before you now, aloud or in our hearts… Help us know how to love these people, God, and to pray for them. Grant us the humility to understand them, and not to fear them. And as we seek to love them, may we learn to love you more and more deeply. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Meeting strangers, meeting God

I have had a couple remarkable experiences lately of meeting God in an encounter with a stranger. They were very different experiences, but I believe their proximity to each other is significant.

The first was a couple weeks ago in a consignment clothing store (where so many miracles happen). As the owner was ringing me up, she said several times how frazzled she was, how absentminded she had been all week. I responded, saying things like, “Oh, I’ve been there,” “It’s no problem, I’m not in a hurry…” Finally she said, “I just haven’t been here mentally all week. My niece was killed on Sunday.”

What made her decide to tell me this tragedy at that moment, I didn’t know, but after a quick assessment, I decided she probably said it because she needed to talk about it. So I gently expressed my concern and asked what happened. On her way to work, she had been T-boned in an intersection when someone ran a stop sign. She was 36 years old, a single mom of two kids – a daughter aged 14 and a son aged 8. Devastating. I let the woman recount to me some of the details of the story, asking questions as it seemed appropriate. She got tears in her eyes, but held it together, and did seem to find some relief in talking about it.

I am always unsure at this point whether bringing my faith into the conversation with someone whose history with religion I don’t know is going to be helpful or harmful. I felt so strongly that God was urging me to pray with her, which I silently did throughout the conversation. But the feeling wouldn’t go away. “Tell her you’re a pastor,” the voice said. “Offer to pray with her right here and now.” But alas, my fear kept my mouth shut. Even as a pastor, and someone who frequently prays aloud with and for people of all stripes on a regular basis, this particular situation was something I had not encountered, and I was reticent and fearful. Finally I came halfway by promising to pray for her. “What is her name?” I asked. She told me and I said I would pray for her and her niece’s family. She seemed somewhat comforted by that, but I didn’t see in her face the consolation I hoped it would bring. I started kicking myself for how half-hearted that seemed. The sort of thing people say when they don’t know what to say, but it seems right. How hard would it have been to simply say, “I’m a pastor. If you need anything, even just to talk to someone, let me give you my number.” I kicked myself all the way to the car and all the way home. Ironically, I was so deep in thought about this missed opportunity that a few blocks from home, I ran a red light in a mercifully empty intersection.

Okay God, I got the message.

The other encounter happened yesterday on my flight home from Houston, from meeting my gorgeous new niece. On the leg from Houston to Detroit, I took my seat and a beautiful young woman with a sweater a fabulous shade of orange came down the aisle. There was some confusion with her seat, but she told the elderly couple in her seat to just stay put, and she would sit behind them in their assigned seat. Shortly thereafter, a young man came and told me I was in his seat. Turns out the elderly couple was in my seat too, and I had sat across the aisle in his seat. So the young woman said, “You can sit here by me!” Gladly! So I moved and I told her how much I enjoyed her sweater, and she told me the whole process that went into choosing it (a woman after my own heart!), including the orange purse which was a different shade of orange but oh well and I said it was bold and offered, “It says, ‘I’m wearing two shades of orange, and I don’t care!’” and she laughed and then we were quiet. I noticed she was taking a Facebook quiz (on the same phone I have) that included a picture with an icon of the virgin Mary, and I wondered if she was Catholic. I liked her. She was the sort of person I would definitely be friends with, if our relationship wasn’t to be so fleeting. When the flight attendant came to take our orders, I thought, “Maybe I’ll get some water with no ice…” just as she said to the attendant, “Water, no ice.” I chuckled and said, “Just what I was thinking.”

Soon enough, she pulled out a book about a journey of faith, and then a small, leather-bound Bible, and she went back and forth between them. I liked her more and more, but I didn’t know how to tell her so without being that creepy person who is checking out what she is reading (which, for the record, I always do because I use people’s reading material to make up a story about what kind of person they might be - it's a little game I play). As I sat there reading my own theology book (hoping she would notice and point out our shared interest!), I got a very strong sense that she was discerning something. Something about the intentionality with which she was working through her book and reading her Bible… I heard that same voice saying, “Talk to her, Johanna! Tell her you’re a pastor.” I shook it off again, thinking I was just being self important, like somehow I should be the one to help her discern whatever it was. But it kept nagging.

I looked out the window then to see a gorgeous sunset, and this was my chance – “Look at the sunset!” I said. She did, and loved it, and we started talking. I told her about my niece, and she asked if I had children yet, and I said hopefully soon, but I had some medical things that had prevented it until now. She said things have a way of working out, that her friend’s husband was diagnosed with cancer right before they were married, and they were told they couldn’t have kids, and then they ended up having three before he died four years later, and now the friend is married to her late husband's best friend. I said, that’s interesting, my story is somewhat similar. Here I managed to slip in the fact that I was a pastor. She asked where I went to seminary, and I raved about Yale for a while and said off-handedly that I think everyone should go to seminary. A look of joy overcame her when she said, “Well, I’m going to a convent.”

Well now I had a zillion questions, and just when the pilot said we were preparing for landing! I asked as many questions as I could, and we bonded over our shared passion for faith and for Jesus. I asked why she wanted to be a nun, and she said, “I’m just so in love with Jesus Christ.” I so love it when people describe their faith that way! She was on her way to visit the convent she hoped to join, and starting in August has several years of discernment ahead of her (postulant, novice, nun - she commented animatedly on the garb for each stage). She has been wanting to do this for three years, since she was my age. She will be a Dominican nun, which is a teaching order, and she is very excited.

At one point in the conversation, she said, “I knew I sensed in you a kindred spirit!” Isn’t God amazing? I asked for her contact information, saying I would love to follow her on her journey. Until August she will have email and Facebook, but then it will have to be traditional letters, though she may have email again after she becomes a nun. I said I love real letters, and I would write. She said she would pray over them. I love this. I’m so excited by this connection. As we parted ways, she said, “Goodbye Johanna!” and gave me a big hug. I wished her luck and many blessings, and she said she would pray for us.

What amazing things happen when we actually listen to that voice. I have wondered a lot lately about the potential of the thousands of would-be connections we make when we fly – it is a potential usually untapped. Michael and I had a meaningful encounter with someone on an airport tram once, a woman who was at a turning point in her life and was trying to figure out what she should be doing, and I think about her so often and wonder how she is doing. This time I didn’t miss the opportunity to find out and follow up. I’m delighted by the possibility of a nun friend, and would be so honored to be able to hear something about her journey to that dream.

What gifts God can deliver through strangers!

Little Laika

I just spent four glorious days cuddling my beautiful niece, Laika (LIE-kuh), and if I didn’t have baby fever before, I sure do now! What a treat to not only meet Laika, but to see my brother as a dad, and my sister-in-law as a mom, to see the tenderness and love with which they handle this precious child. I had been unsure going in to this trip – I’d never been in a house for an extended time with a baby and didn’t know what to expect, I’d never been to Texas, and, I realized, I had never spent time with my brother when my parents weren’t a part of the visit. (I decided this means we are really adults now – not the fact that we both just bought houses, or that we’re both married, or that he has a kid and a Very Safe Car now. It’s the fact that we visited with each other on our own, aside from a special event or where our parents were also present.)

But let me go on about sweet Laika. At seven weeks, she’s a good baby. As our pediatrician friend said, “My diagnosis is: perfect!” Apparently she has only just started having quiet awake times, but she had plenty of them. We were able to go out and do some things with Laika in a Boba wrap, and she didn’t make a peep. Though she still sleeps most of the day, I had plenty of time to hold her and cuddle her and sing to her and dance with her. I wandered around their yard with my sweet girl while Luke worked (from home) and Chunzi and her mom did some errands and some things around the house. I learned some tricks to make her stop crying, I discovered which songs she liked better than others (she’s a big fan of Jason Mraz and also MaMuse), and I soaked in every little face movement and expression and sound.

The morning I left, I took the opportunity to take in as much Laika as I could before saying goodbye. First, Luke and I had a jam session with her, with Luke on the ukulele I gave him for Christmas and me singing, and him singing when he was comfortable, and Laika making us look good. She enjoyed that very much! Then just the two of us danced together around the living room to the classical music station. I sang her songs from the musical Michael and I are doing, and practiced the dance steps. We swooped down when the music went down, and up when the music went up. We made up words to the instrumental music. And I sang some of her favorites, including I’m Yours by Jason Mraz. “Look into your heart and you’ll find love love love love. Listen to the music of the moment, people dance and sing. We’re just one big family. And it’s our God [given] right to be loved, loved, loved, loved… There’s no need to complicate, our time is short, this is our fate: I’m yours!” As I sang these words, Laika gazed up at me, and wouldn’t you know it, her little face broke into a smile. And I may have cried a little. If that doesn’t melt you heart, what does?!

At one point I was standing near the ceiling fan and Laika was staring right at it. And because of the angle, when I looked in her eyes, I could see what looked like crosses in her eyes. And I immediately started to pray – holding this child in my arms, seeing her gaze so intently up with her angelic face, how could I not? My prayers didn’t necessarily have words, but they were fervent and sincere. Oh, what love for this child! It was very hard to say goodbye!

Sermon: Don't be angry... (Feb. 16, 2014)

Epiphany 6A

February 16, 2014

Matthew 5:21-37

            I have been hearing over and over again the last couple months about all the flight delays and cancelations due to weather. But in all the stories I have heard, one that I read this week is my favorite. 

It was written by Josh Misner, a dad who was traveling with his 6-year-old son and his teenage daughter. It had been a long trip, and everyone was grumpy due to cancelations and delays, but he was doing his best to keep a positive attitude and be a good example for his two kids. He did pretty well until they landed and sprinted to catch their next leg… only to find that they had missed it by mere seconds. The gate was closed, and there was nothing to be done.

But he saw the ticket agent. "Can you help me??" he asked. The agent was rushing away and said no, he could not. "You can do to the ticket counter over there," he said, as he hurried away. Josh lost it. After holding it together all this way, his frustration came out in a string of profanity... until he say his 6-year-old son gazing up at him. He realized he was setting a terrible precedent for his son, showing him exactly the wrong way to deal with difficult situations and people. Josh spent the next three hours considering how to reconcile what he had just instilled in his son. What he came up with daring and scary, but he knew he had to do it. 

He took his son'g hand. "Come with me." They went to the ticket agent, the same one they'd spoken to before. And Josh laid himself bare. "Sire, I don't know if you recognize me, but about three hours ago, I did something inappropriate. I cursed at you because you didn't help us find a new flight after we missed our connection, and that wasn't right. I took my frustration out on you and set a poor example for my children. I want to apologize to you and ask your forgiveness." The agent looked at him, stunned. "It's okay, I forgive you," he said, and expressed his appreciation for the apology. Of all the people who yelled at him at work - and there were a lot! - he'd never gotten an apology before.

            It was the perfect story to read this week, as I have been considering our Gospel text in which Jesus gives some insight about how we are to treat one another. Jesus talks about some pretty saucy stuff here – adultery, divorce, breaking oaths – but the part that always gets me is the first bit, about anger. Anger is a strange emotion. In the short term, it can be exciting – your adrenaline increases, you start to feel righteous (or too often, self-righteous). Even after the adrenaline passes, there is something sort of satisfying about harboring resentment… knowing that you were right and they were wrong and you are obviously the better person. Of course, that’s all on the surface. In the long run, anger eats away at you. It shuts your eyes to a larger truth. It discourages or prevents self-reflection and the growth that comes from it. And it causes your view of the world to be through jaded glasses. In the end, there is no fun or satisfaction in anger.

            And that’s why Jesus goes so far as to equate it with murder. Because it does come to that, doesn’t it? Whether you actually take a person’s life or not, when you harbor anger about someone and think bad thoughts about them, you have murdered them in your heart. And not only the other person, but you let that anger and resentment eat away at you. Like Anne Lamott writes, “Not forgiving is like drinking rat poison and then waiting for the rat to die.”

            And so Jesus advocates instead seeking reconciliation. “When you are offering your gift at the altar,” he says, “if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift.” Notice, it isn’t even limited to, “If you are angry with someone,” but if you know someone else is angry with you, you should go and seek reconciliation with them. In other words, it doesn’t matter whose fault it is; if you know there is something wrong, something broken in a relationship, then you can be the one to take steps toward healing it.

            Of course this is often easier said than done, and in fact talking to the person about the problem sometimes causes even more pain and brokenness. Relationships are complicated that way. There is a time and a place for everything, and if going to be reconciled with someone is at this point going to drive a bigger wedge between you, well then seek healing a different way. Start by considering your role in the issue. Think about why you acted the way you did, what was going on inside you that manifest itself as anger, and acknowledge that. That is my favorite part about Josh Misner’s apology in the story I shared: he acknowledged that what he had done was hurtful, he pinpointed why he had done it, he apologized without excuse, and he asked for forgiveness. That’s hard to do, but perhaps even harder is taking the time to discover and name all those things.

And that is why the best place to start is prayer: lift that person and that relationship up to God and ask for help in finding healing, and ask what you can do to help bring about that healing – healing for you, or them, or both. As with so many difficult things, prayer is the best place to start.

            But we also find a miraculous healer in the life of the church. The waters of baptism remind us that no matter how covered in angry sludge we may find ourselves, God wipes us clean and forgives us and calls us beloved. When we come forward for communion, we are reminded that Christ took all of our human sinfulness with him to the grave, and now we are free to partake of his grace and come into his love.

            But the part of our worship that ties most closely to this passage is the passing of the peace. Did you ever notice the significance of where in the liturgy this happens? It’s right before we give our offering, and then come to communion, right before we come before the altar and join Christ’s heavenly banquet. Because Jesus tells us, right in our Gospel reading today, that we should reconcile with our brothers and sisters before we come to the altar, and so that is what we do, saying to one another, “The peace of Christ be with you.”

            Have you ever passed the peace with someone you didn’t much like? Or someone with whom you have a painful history, or are having some sort of squabble? I have a handful of times, and it is indeed a powerful moment. To look someone in the eyes, take their hand and say in essence, “I know that we have our differences, and I’m trying to work through that, but in the meantime, know that I wish you the peace of Christ, the peace that passes all understanding, the peace that I myself cannot give, but that I trust our Lord and Savior Jesus can. The peace of Christ be with you always.”

            And that is the remarkable thing about the church, about the liturgy, and about this faith. We don’t always have to have it all together. We don’t have to follow the letter of the law just perfectly every time. Because every time we are not quite able to reach where God would have us be, we can still trust and rest assured that Jesus meets us the rest of the way. And that indeed is the peace of Christ.

Let us pray… Lord God, you have given us the joy and the challenge of relationship. In thanksgiving we lift up to you those relationships that have been life-giving to us. Thank you for those people, Lord… We also lift up to you those relationships that have been damaged or broken over the years. Help to heal this brokenness, God. Help us to know what role we can play in that healing. Where forgiveness is needed, help us to seek it. Where reconciliation is needed, help us to reach it. Where acceptance is needed, help us to find it. And may we continually discover how both your law and your gospel can heal and restore our relationships. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.