Sermon: Jesus the revolutionary (Feb 28, 2021)

View full service HERE.

Lent 2B

February 28, 2021

Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16

Mark 8:31-38

 

INTRODUCTION

         If I had to choose one word to describe our readings today, it would be TRUST. We’ll hear the Abrahamic covenant, which is the quintessential story of trust, in which God tells Abraham, who is 99 years old, that he and Sarah, his spritely 90-year-old wife, will be father and mother of a great nation, even though they have until now been barren. Paul will tell us in the reading from Romans how remarkable Abraham’s faith and trust in this covenant is. And in our Gospel reading, just before it, actually, Jesus has asked his disciples to declare who they believe him to be, and then (and we will hear this) what that declaration implies. This may seem like no big deal, except for the location of this conversation. Just before today’s reading, Mark will have told us that they are in Caesarea Philippi, which is big-time Gentile country, pagan country. In other words, a place where confessing Jesus as the Messiah could get someone killed! And yet Peter does: when Jesus asks, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter responds, “You’re the Messiah.” Gutsy! For moment, Peter is a hero, but once Jesus starts telling them what that means (which is what we will hear today), Peter is not so sure Jesus should be saying these things, and well, we’ll see what happens next. Point is, this is a story about trusting God, trusting Jesus, even when the going gets tough – a lesson that the disciples, and we, are still learning!

         As you listen, watch for those trust images, and consider what it means to trust God in whatever difficult situations you might be facing in life right now. Let’s listen.

[READ]

            Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

         Here’s a bit of news from the Rehbaum family: we have started looking at some houses because we are interested in moving sometime this spring. This is a hard decision because while we don’t love our current house (hence the desire to move), we do love our location – its proximity to so much of what we need, walkability to a lot of things including schools, playgrounds, groceries, parks, library, awesome neighbors… It has been really hard, especially in this market, to not only find a great, affordable new house, but to find one that has some similar perks to our current location!

Of course, anyone in real estate could tell you the importance of that: location is everything. What you may not have realized is that this is also true in biblical interpretation! And this is particularly true for today’s Gospel reading, which cannot be understood apart from both its geographic and its narrative location. Last week I talked about how Jesus in Mark is all about crossing boundaries, from that first moment when the heavens are torn apart at his baptism, to his last moment when the temple curtain is torn at his death. Today’s story is another boundary-breaking one. As I mentioned, this exchange takes place in Caesarea Philippi, basically, “Caesar-ville of Herod” (Herod Philip) – the land of Gentiles, pagans and allegiance to the Roman Empire. The disciples here are WAY out of their comfort zones, having crossed into a place that is the very essence of the oppressive Empire – that is, the Roman Empire. In other words, here is where this life of faith, of following Jesus, suddenly gets quite a bit riskier. Following Jesus is not just about miraculous healings, stilling storms, and feeding 5000 people with a few loaves of bread. In this place, in the heart of The Empire, is where a life of faith get serious.

If this doesn’t make you uncomfortable, let’s take a look at how Peter responds. Remember, he has, just before today’s reading, confessed that Jesus is the Messiah. We might miss the magnitude and impact of that statement from where we stand, knowing the whole story as we do, but remember again the location: here, in a city named for the current political leaders, Peter says that Jesus is the Messiah, a title usually reserved for royal triumph, and for the restoration of Israel. Like, King David was called Messiah, which means, anointed one. By calling Jesus the “Messiah,” Peter is in essence suggesting he wants the ruling government overturned. He is expressing his hope that Jesus will be a kingly ruler who will overcome the current political rulers, beat back the oppressive Empire, and restore Israel – and he says this right there in the city of Caesarea Philippi! Woosh! That is some serious guts, as well as deep faith, from Peter!

But even though Peter’s confession is true, Jesus doesn’t want this information out just yet. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says. Then he goes on, and this is the part that we heard a moment ago. Jesus starts talking about himself in the 3^rd person, but the title he uses for himself is the opposite of what Peter has just confessed: he calls himself, “Son of Man.” The human one – who will suffer, be rejected, and die at the hands of that very Empire Peter had assumed Jesus was there to destroy.

Boy oh boy, if I were Peter, I would be… scared, reactive, and indignant! I would do the same as Peter does here, and rebuke Jesus! “No, Jesus! What are you talking about? You’re the Messiah, the winner, the one who defeats all those people! You can’t suffer and die if you’re the Messiah!” And there would probably also be a bit of doubt and frustration: “If you’re just gonna suffer and die like the rest of us, then why did we give up everything to follow you?” Yes, I can certainly feel Peter’s pain here. I, too, often jump to rebuke when I feel scared, or lack understanding.

Of course, in my case and in Peter’s, that tendency toward rebuke is a reaction, and not always fully thought-out. And Jesus calls him on it, first calling Peter “satan,” meaning adversary, and then adding, “Step back, dude, you’re thinking like a human. You need to set your mind not on human ways, but on divine ways.” Ahh, another thing Peter and I have in common! Especially when the going gets scary or demanding, we so often retreat into ourselves, trusting our own, human ways rather than the ways of God! But Jesus has a different way of doing things.

Jesus’ next words, Mark tells us, are directed to “the crowds.” Remember, Mark is always leaving room for us to enter into the story ourselves, and so when Jesus “calls the crowd,” we can assume Mark intends for us, the readers, to be a part of that crowd. To them, and to us, Jesus says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will find it.” This is one of Jesus’ most well-known statements, and also one of the most misused and misunderstood. So often we hear this as a call to “suck it up” and bear our suffering without complaint, like Jesus did. It has been used to send women back into abusive relationships, to keep slaves submissive to their masters, to quiet those who would speak up about their abuse, instead insisting that, “This is just the way it is. It is your cross to bear. Now don’t rock the boat.”

But this could hardly be further from what Jesus is saying here! Jesus is not asking us to endure suffering for the sake of suffering, nor to endure it for the sake of keeping the status quo. In fact, I’d argue he is saying the opposite! Jesus teaches that true life comes when we live for others, when we pursue love, justice, peace, and life – just like he did. Love, justice, peace, life – that’s the gospel. Yet this way of living was contrary to life under the Roman Empire, so much so that anyone who spoke out against this Empire would be punished by death, even death on a cross. Rome used the threat of the cross, of crucifixion, to silence and execute dissidents.

So when Jesus says, “Take up your cross,” the original audience would have heard that as a direct reference to Rome’s ways. It would have even sounded like a rally cry, like, “So Rome wants to threaten our way of life with a cross, to subdue our teachings of love and justice with violence? Bring it on. Take up your cross, and do not return their violence with more violence, because that violence will never bring peace.” The myth of redemptive violence – the belief that evil must be punished by violence – is indeed a lie, and contrary to the gospel of Jesus. Almost always, violence only begets more violence.

Turns out, Jesus was quite the revolutionary! And, an original proponent of non-violent resistance, the sort that we saw during the Civil Rights Movement and in other movements since. And, Jesus was not afraid to stand up to an oppressive government if that was what was required in order for people, especially people on the margins, to have life. Be willing to lose your life “for the sake of the gospel,” he says, for the sake of love, justice and peace. Be willing to give everything you’ve got for this gospel of life.

And this is as contemporary a message today as it was then. This week in Rochester we learned that there will be no indictments in the Daniel Prude case that played out in our Rochester streets, because the police followed protocols. That doesn’t mean we put this story away and move on – it means we work to change protocols, train police for mental health crises, anything to keep something like this from happening again, to create systems in which people get not violence, but they get what they need. A few weeks ago, a frantic and emotional 9-year-old girl in Rochester was pepper-sprayed by police and handcuffed. 9 years old! Again, even if they were following protocols, this is an abysmal protocol, and something needs to change.

Take up your cross, Jesus bids us, and do what I would do. Stand up to the ruling powers for the sake of those in need, for the sake of love, for the sake of the gospel. Work not to keep the status quo, but toward bringing peace to this world, and if those in power would threaten you with the cross, with punishment, stand by the values of your faith in Christ. Be willing to lose something of this fleeting life, if it is for the sake of bringing greater life to God’s children. Because that sort of risk, finally, is what Jesus makes possible. He shows us, by his own willingness to go to the cross for the sake of our life, that such loss is no punishment to one who believes in the resurrection. Because he shows us that, even in death, God wins. It’s a difficult call, to be sure – much more difficult than marveling at the abundant bread, or the stilled storm, or the incredible healing. Jesus does those things, too. But ultimately, it is all for the sake of life – for us, and for all those whom God loves.

Let us pray… Life-giving God, you do not want anyone to suffer. And so you call us into your mission, to bring life to all those in need, in whatever way we are able. Embolden us to accept your call, for the sake of the gospel. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: The Walls Came Tumblin' Down (Feb 21, 2021)

 View full service HERE.

Lent 1B

February 21, 2021

Mark 1:9-15

INTRODUCTION

         Always on this first Sunday in Lent, we hear the story of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness. It’s a great way to set the tone for Lent, a season when we consider our own temptations, and work to overcome them so that we might turn our hearts back to God and God’s ways. Mark’s temptation story is so short that the lectionary also includes Jesus’ baptism – and this is the third time we will have heard it in as many months! But it’s good to hear it today because baptism is such a central part of our Lenten journey back to God.

Baptism is a covenant God makes with us, and in this liturgical year, we will be hearing about numerous other covenants God has made with God’s people over the course of salvation history, a different one each week. Today’s covenant de jour is the one God made with Noah, which is marked by a rainbow in the sky. Of course you remember that this covenant follows the flood story, which is very baptismal in nature – God uses water to wipe out all the evil on the earth, just as God uses water to wipe out the evil in our hearts. Our reading from 1 Peter will point out that connection for us.

         The covenant of baptism is always an important focus of Lent, and especially today, so be sure to keep an eye out for all the baptismal imagery, today and throughout Lent. As you listen to today’s texts, which are pretty familiar, see if you notice anything new about them, or glean any new insights on what baptism means for our lives. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Several months ago, I found a CD of children’s Bible songs, and started playing it in the car for the kids. Grace soon became obsessed with Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho. Joshua fit the battle of Jericho, and the walls came a-tumblin’ down! I get it – it’s a fun song! She would ask for me to play it again and again. Then when we would read stories out of our children’s Bible, she always wanted to hear the story of Joshua. We read it. We sang it. We played it, knocking over towers we had built while playing kazoos and recorders.

But really, it’s a pretty weird, and devastating story – if you aren’t as familiar with the story as you are with the song, it is the story of the first battle of the Israelites’ conquest of Canaan, the land God had promised them. They arrive at the city of Jericho to find people already living there (and big, strong, mean-looking people at that), but God assures them if they do what he says, the Israelites would overtake the city. As per God’s instructions, they walk around the city once a day for 6 days, and on the 7^th day, as they march around the city walls now seven times, blowing ram’s horns, the walls come a-tumblin’ down. And, mass killing and bloodshed ensued – yay! (That part, understandably, didn’t make it into the song, or the children’s Bible!)

It’s certainly an interesting story… turns out, though, that archeologists have been unable to substantiate it with evidence. But honestly, that doesn’t bother me, because to me, whether it happened just this way or not isn’t really the point. The point is this: that God can tear down walls, that no barrier is too strong or too daunting for God to overcome, and that even when things seem impossible, we still can trust God to come through for us, even in dramatic fashion.

The reason I think that’s the point is that this is a story that God continues to tell throughout salvation history, and today’s Gospel reading is yet one more example. We’ve heard this baptism story now three times in the past few months, but I want to point out some details that you may have missed before. First, notice what happens at the moment Jesus is baptized. We usually think of the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove coming down, which has a sort of gentle feel about it. But in Mark, this is not gentle. Marks says, “The heavens were torn apart.” Seems a small detail, but don’t miss it! Compare it, for example, to Matthew, who observes that the heavens were “opened.” Like a door, that can be opened and then shut again, no damage done. But torn? That’s a violent image, and an irreversible one. In fact, the only other time Mark uses this same word, torn, is at the crucifixion, when the temple curtain is torn in two – the curtain that separates the people from the Holy of Holies, the place in the Temple where God was said to dwell. That curtain, that separation, is torn. That barrier between God and humans is opened up, irreversibly.

Why does all this matter, and why in particular does it matter right now? Because in this way, the whole Gospel of Mark is framed by this violent and disturbing image of destroying the boundaries and barriers that would separate us from God, and now nothing can go back to “normal,” to the way it was before. With Jesus’ presence in the world, “normal” is no longer an option. As commentator Don Juhl says, “God is on the loose!”

Now this may come to you as good news, or it may be terrifying news. I mean, it seems like good news that God would be with us… until we realize that this barrier-breaking God cannot be contained by the boxes in which we would try to keep God – those boxes that cause us to limit what God could or would do, or where God could or would go. As long as God fits in a box, we can feel like we have some control, because we know what we can expect, but in God’s barrier-tearing wall-tumbling activity, we see that God will not conform to what we think or expect God to do or be. We lose control of the situation.

Though it may be at first unsettling, this is also great news for us, because it means nothing can keep us away from God’s presence. Perhaps, for example, you felt before this pandemic like God was mostly found or experienced at church, in the building, and you were fine with that because you had regular access to that building. But now, most of us haven’t been in a church building at all, which would disrupt our connection to God… except that, who’s to say that the God who tumbles walls and tears open the heavens cannot be equally present in your home? Not just at 9:30 on a Sunday, but also around your dinner table, or in the backyard, or while you’re making dinner or doing homework? God is on the loose!

Another example of how God rejects the limits we may place on Him: we are accustomed, I think, to noticing God’s presence in miraculous or joyful occasions – when a sickness is healed, when a relationship is mended, when things finally go right. But does it ever occur to us that God is also, and perhaps even more, present in the moments when things do not go well? This is a God who would tear open the heavens to come down, whose death tore the temple curtain, who repeatedly causes walls to come tumbling down. So why wouldn’t God also come to be with us in our moments of sadness and despair and lack – not necessarily to fix them, but to be present in them? Why wouldn’t we believe that God is also there with us in the wilderness, the hunger, the temptations?

And there’s the second detail to notice: that immediately after God tears His way into the world, the Spirit drives Jesus into the wilderness: a place of hunger, despair, loneliness, and lack. This is the very first place God chooses to go. Like when you first get home from a long road trip and you walk in the door and make a beeline for the bathroom, that is your most urgent need, God makes an immediate beeline for the wilderness, because upon arriving in the world, being in this place is God’s most urgent need. In this way, another wall comes a-tumblin’ down: God is not confined to feel-good places and miraculous moments. God chooses to be with us also in the wilderness, where things don’t go well. And this choice shows God’s willingness and readiness to teach, form and redeem us, even and especially in those most desperate and difficult times of life. In this way, by tearing down this wall, God makes even the wilderness a holy place, even in the face of evil tempting and threatening to devour us. By crumbling this wall, God shows us that the places of the most profound despair, where wild beasts are with us, are the exact places where angels also tend to us, where God chooses to be present with us… even, where God can bring redemption.

I spoke on Ash Wednesday about how Lent may not feel very welcome this year, because more talk of death and sin just adds more oppression to a world already under a shadow. But in fact, this story about how God makes walls to crumble and barriers to be torn apart, in which God makes an intentional effort to be in the places of longing and fear, is exactly why we do need Lent. These six weeks are a time of noticing God’s presence in those places, and noticing what barriers in our lives God might need to tear apart, what walls need to be tumbled, so that God might enter in. Of course, God can do that without our help. But what Lent does for us is to help us notice where and when God is doing that for us. Through time in repentance, and disciplines like fasting, prayer, sacrificial giving, and scripture study, we gain eyes to see and ears to hear how God is tumbling walls all around us. I hope that you will engage in some of these disciplines during these weeks, to better focus your attention on the ways that God tears open the heavens and causes walls to tumble, all for the sake of our salvation.

Let us pray… Barrier-breaking God, we think that walls and barriers will keep us safe, but you have a different idea. Open our eyes to see how you are breaking down barriers to order to be with us in our wilderness, and to bring us into life. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Ash Wednesday Sermon 2021

Ash Wednesday 2021

Psalm 51

Full service here.

 

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

         Here we are, another Lent, living in a pandemic. Last year, when the pandemic began halfway through Lent, we joked about how “this year we have had to give up more than we bargained for!” We did our best, expecting that by next Lent we would have already been back to “normal.” Ah, how naïve we were back then!

         Now here we are, entering into another Lenten season, this season that begins with a stark reminder that we all were made from dust and we all will return to dust – in other words, that we are all gonna die. As if we needed such a reminder – couldn’t we just turn on the news if we wanted to be reminded of our mortality and the fleeting and fragile nature of life?

That’s not the only reason Ash Wednesday may seem unwelcome this year. It is also a day when we spend a good long time in confession, recalling all the ways we have fallen short of God’s hope for us – as if we needed another reminder that we have not been our best selves this year. Ash Wednesday is a day when we lament, and sing “Lord have mercy” and everything is in a minor key – as if we needed more reason to be filled with sadness and despair during this time.

         Yes, I suspect many of us might not feel much like Ash Wednesday, or the rest of Lent, just now. I get that, truly I do!

         But on the other hand, Ash Wednesday and Lent are also exactly what we need this year, precisely because this day and this season echo so much of what we are living right now – but unlike the unceasing stream of bad news in the paper, TV and radio, Lent doesn’t leave us in our despair. Lent is always about a journey from death to life, from despair to hope, and in this way it offers us what the world cannot give.

It does this by being honest, and Ash Wednesday is perhaps the most honest day of the year, a day when we say, “Yes, life is hard. Yes, it is fleeting. Yes, we so often fail. We are in pain, God. Please help us.” And God assures us of the loving promises of baptism, and invites us on a journey of renewal by which we can find our way out of our despair. That journey may be accompanied by engaging in various disciplines, like giving, fasting, and praying, and those are all great practices that I recommend. There are some weekly suggestions in our devotional this year that I hope you’ll try. But even before we get there, the first step of the journey from death to life is necessarily to name where we are beginning. And that is what we are here to do today.

         Why is this sort of honesty about our starting point so important? Well for one thing, it is biblical! That is what I love about these texts always assigned for Ash Wednesday. They can be tough to read, yes, but only because they resonate so deeply with our own struggles, and urge us to take a good long look at our hearts.

         They all do this, but perhaps none quite so starkly as Psalm 51. This Psalm is a centerpiece of Lent, always appearing on Ash Wednesday and again during Holy Week – and with good reason. This Psalm, as you may know, has a story behind it: King David wrote it after he saw Bathsheba bathing on the roof, took her for himself even though they both were married, and had her husband killed. After being confronted with his wrong-doing, he bares his heart to God, asking God to wash it, to create in him a clean heart, to restore a right spirit within him. Now, whether or not you have ever done something quite so egregious as David (and my guess is, you likely haven’t!), we can all think of something for which we, too, need to be washed through and through. And we can all benefit from what David’s beautiful words show us about the journey from the death of sin to the restoration of new life.

         Most importantly, he starts with confession. I mentioned before that the path toward life must begin with recognizing where you are, and that is what he does. Though he doesn’t say exactly what he has done, he clearly is aware, and knows his sinful nature, which has existed, he says, since he was born. Notice he doesn’t say, “Yeah, it was wrong, but let me just explain myself.” He just says, “I know my offenses, my sin is ever before me, no excuses.” I know how prone I am to try to justify my mistakes – even when I do apologize, it is so hard not to try to explain why I made the mistake. But while this sort of work (of understanding our triggers, motives and reactions) may be useful to prevent the same thing from happening in the future, we must follow David’s lead on this, and simply acknowledge that we messed up, that we mess up, still, regularly. And our mess-ups hurt others, and put distance between us and God. And if God is life, then that distance brings about death (spiritually speaking).

         I think this acknowledgement is the hardest and most important part of this journey. It requires the most painful honesty, and the deepest heart work. No one wants to admit they are wrong or have done wrong, especially when we, too, have been hurt by something. Much easier is either to blame someone or something else, or to offer a cursory apology without really doing the work to figure out why our action or inaction is wrong. In a moment we will engage in a lengthy confession, a central part of the Ash Wednesday liturgy, and it will help put some words to the many ways our sin puts a barrier between us and God, between us and new life. You might even consider hanging onto the words of that confession, to refer back to later as a tool to help you with this throughout Lent.

         The next thing David does is ask to be washed of this sin. “Wash me through and through,” he begs. “Remove my sins with hyssop and I shall be clean. Wash me, and I shall be purer than snow.” This is yet another step on the path, but is not yet looking toward the new life to come. He is trying here to be rid of the dead weight of sin. If naming our sin locates us on our journey toward life, asking to be made clean expresses our desire to start moving in a different direction.

         I can’t help but think about how this pandemic has changed so many of our showering habits. If you’re still showering daily, good on you, but from what I hear and experience, this is not the norm. When we’re not leaving the house, and barely changing out of sweatpants, sometimes the shower just doesn’t happen. Maybe even for days (it’s okay, no shame!). Then the time comes when we need to go out in public, and the first step? “I need to shower.” We’re not leaving the house just yet. But we are preparing ourselves, our bodies for this, so that we do not inflict our stench on those we meet. This is what happens when we ask God to wash us of our sins: remove the stench of sin, so that we may walk toward this new place, without further inflicting those whom we meet.

         Finally, David turns toward the hope of new life. “Create in me a clean heart,” he says. “Restore to me the joy of your salvation…. Open my lips and my mouth shall proclaim your praise…” So many beautiful phrases, painting this picture of what this new life can look like, once we’ve left our sins circling the drain! David looks toward that promised salvation – a salvation he knew through forgiveness and we know profoundly through Jesus Christ – and with these words begins his journey toward that salvation and new life.

         And that is what Ash Wednesday is truly about. It is about recognizing the stark reality of our humanity, and the sin and death that go with it. It is about articulating to God that we do not want to be burdened anymore by that sin, nor encumbered by the fear of death. And it is about looking ahead, across the waters of baptism, toward a life of joy and salvation, a life that truly is life in Christ.

         Today, our Ash Wednesday ritual will look different. Normally we come forward to have an ashen cross traced on our foreheads as we hear those words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Those words are still true, but without being able to do this service in person, we’ve decided to try something different this year, to highlight not only the mortality, but also the life that follows the death. When we have that ashen cross traced on our brows, it is not the first cross that was put there. That first cross came in baptism, when after emerging from the water you heard the words, “You, child of God, have been sealed with the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever,” as you were anointed with an oil cross on your forehead. Today, we will remember that baptismal promise of being marked with Christ’s cross, even as we also confess our need to return to that promise. Using water instead of ashes, we will trace that same cross not only on our forehead, but from head to toe, either on yourself, or if you have more people in your household, on each other. This will remind us that Christ walked that journey from death to life himself, and that by his cross he brings us with him, from death into new life.

         The beauty of our faith is the assurance that death is not the end. God always, always brings about newness of life out of our endings. May we carry that promise with us in our whole bodies this Lent, as we journey together toward that hopeful Easter morning.

         In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Mountaintops and faith (Feb 14, 2021)

Full service here (except the tail end that got cut off when our internet suddenly quit!). 

Transfiguration B

Feb. 14, 2021

Mark 9:2-9

 

INTRODUCTION

         Always on this last Sunday before the beginning of Lent we celebrate Transfiguration Sunday, one of the church’s high holy days (you can always tell it’s important when we use white paraments!). It is the culmination of the season of Epiphany, the season of light, and we celebrate by hearing the story of Jesus on a mountaintop, shining brighter than anything we’ve ever seen on earth. It is also a turning point: in Mark’s Gospel, this is halfway through, and where the first half of the Gospel has been really fast-paced, now things will slow way down as we walk down the mountain with the disciples to enter into the end of Jesus’ life and the story of his passion, which for Mark is the really important part.

         You’ll likely notice in the story of the Transfiguration that we get a mysterious visit from a few folks out of history: appearing with and chatting with Jesus on the mountaintop are Moses (whom I assume you all know – the guy who led the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt and to the Promised Land, and who brought them the 10 Commandments), and Elijah, who may be less known to you. So, the Old Testament reading today will tell us a bit about him, specifically about his fiery departure from earth. Notice he doesn’t die – he just disappears. His return was said to be a sign that the Messiah was coming. And Ta-da! There he is on the mountain.

         As you listen to these texts today, just let them wash over you. They are colorful and dramatic texts, so rather than analyze them, just visualize them, and imagine you were there watching it happen. Let’s listen.

[READ]

            Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

 

         Last week in the wonderful Bible study our intern Lisa led on the Gospel of Mark, we learned that the Transfiguration is one of three important moments in Mark’s Gospel where the narrative gives us a glimpse of Jesus’ true identity, along with his baptism and his crucifixion. Through all the rest of Mark, Jesus is all hush-hush about who he really is, but in these three moments, there is some meaningful connection between heaven and earth that gives both us, the reader, and the original witnesses, a sense that Jesus is more than he seems. In other words: this is a really important moment! So as we explore it today, keep this in mind, that this moment is a central one for helping us to understand who Jesus is, and our faith in him.

         The first thing to notice about this story is the surprise of where it happens: on a mountain. We’ve not heard anything about a mountain in Mark until now – Jesus has been doing all of his healings and ministry in the lowlands, in the valley. Then suddenly they are heading up a mountain. Faith is like that. The valley is certainly a simpler place to be. Though it lacks topographical interest, it is at least predictable. Learning to drive a stick shift is certainly easier in Nebraska or Florida, for example, than it was in my hometown in the Sierra Nevada foothills!

But now Jesus and some of his disciples are walking uphill. We all have experienced uphill battles, haven’t we? We’re experiencing a collective one right now, of course, a continuous uphill trudge for the past year. But even apart from that, an uphill battle may look like a challenging class in school, or a difficult colleague or family member who can’t ever seem to understand your ideas or point of view, or an illness that doesn’t respond to treatment like it should… Walking up that hill is not easy. I remember going hiking once as a kid, and we kept going up and up and there seemed no end in sight and I was so tired, my water was running low, and my lips were so chapped… I eventually got to the destination, of course, but I refused to hike for many years after that because my memories of that challenging walk uphill were so negative.  The valley was so much easier! So much more predictable! So much more comfortable! But sometimes our faith presents us with an uphill battle, a challenge that pulls us out of the simplicity of faith in a valley.

         Ah, but then you get to the top of the mountain. Have you ever noticed how many significant things happen on mountaintops in the Bible? Moses receives the 10 Commandments, the Sermon on the Mount, the Transfiguration, and finally, the crucifixion. It seems that the top of the mountain is a very important and meaningful place to be. Why is that?

         There are many reasons this could be the case.  Maybe you feel closer to God when you’re that high up. Maybe a special experience is a sort of reward after having climbed that difficult climb. But the one I think of comes to mind because of its contrast with the valley – and that is, the view you get at the top of the mountain. Being down in the valley is comfortable and predictable, yes, but being on ground level also doesn’t allow you to see the big picture very well. One of my favorite things, when I lived in Slovakia, was the many castles you could visit all over the country – one castle for each region. The castles are always built on the highest mountain in the region, so that from that high perch, the occupants could see as much of the region as possible, and know what was going on.

That’s not unlike being at the top of a mountain in our faith – this high vantage point allows us an entirely new perspective even on the toughest parts of faith and life! Maybe that’s why Jesus often goes off to the mountains to pray. How useful this is when trying to make a difficult decision, one that is complicated and has many different elements to consider. Sometimes we can get stuck in one issue or another – the cost, the time, the potential for growth, or the potential for burn out. I am certainly guilty of this. One of the first worship services I ever planned, back in seminary, I was so caught up in the details of the thing – who was supposed to say what when and how, what music happened when and how – that as things started to not go as I’d planned, I got frustrated, and was unable to worship at all myself. When I told my mom about it later, she gently asked, “Johanna, did you remember to invite the Holy Spirit?” Oops, I knew I forgot something! How easy it is to do that, to get so caught up in the details that we forget to simply have faith, to invite the Holy Spirit! But being on the top of the mountain, above those details and able to see the beauty and magnitude of what God does in our lives, we are prepared to let the Spirit make important decisions for us, to move us toward God’s will.

And then… then we shall see the glory of God! The next thing that happens in this story, of course, is the transfiguration itself. While the three disciples there had so far only seen Jesus in his utter humanity, getting down and dirty with the people God, now they see him in all the glory of God, along with Moses and Elijah, glimmering brightly, shining like the heavens. They are blown away! Indeed, they are terrified. Compared to what they had seen and known at the bottom of the mountain, this was an entirely new sort of experience. And this is the sort of experience one can have at the top of a mountain, away from the dirt and grime, away from the details of life. It can be terrifying, yes – the top of the mountain and the subsequent experience of God’s glory may be unfamiliar and unknown. But bathed in the light of Christ, we also are reminded of the eternal life and light of Christ, the promise that Christ is with us to the end of the age. And see the words God says to those terrified disciples? “This is my Son, the beloved. Listen to him!” Listen to him! I know you are terrified, but this is my Son – listen to him! I know you don’t know what to do or say, but this is my Son – listen to him! And when Elijah and Moses and the cloud and the dazzling white clothes all go away, what are they left with? “Only Jesus,” Mark tells us. Only Jesus.

And then they go back down the mountain. I can imagine their stunned silence, as Jesus warns them not to tell anyone about this until later, after the resurrection. Surely there remains some fear about what they had just witnessed. If it were me, I might also be afraid of what I was going back to, down there at the bottom of the mountain. Here they had seen a vision of glory, experienced what it was like to glow in the light of Christ at the top of a mountain, and now they are walking back down the mountain, back into the dirt and details of everyday life. Indeed, immediately upon their return to town, Jesus is approached with a sick boy in need of healing, and more sickness after that. And it is not too long after that that Jesus walks into Jerusalem, and eventually walks back up a mountain with a cross on his back, and is crucified.

And this is where we are left, as well. Today we experience the glory of God in Jesus’ transfiguration. In three days, we begin Lent, and the journey to the cross. We will follow Jesus back down that mountain and into the dirty details of life. We will reflect on our bondage to sin, and inability to free ourselves. We will put away the “alleluias” for 6 weeks, and prepare ourselves to experience once again the suffering, death, and yes finally the resurrection of Christ. Will we view life down here in the valley differently, having seen the glory of Christ? I hope so! For even as we enter this Lenten time of penitence and repentance, we carry with us the knowledge and memory of Christ’s glory. We carry with us down that mountain and into everyday life the promise that this is God’s son, the beloved, that we are to listen to him, and that through him, we are forgiven. May we glory in that promise forever.

Let us pray… Glorious God, when we are in a valley, unable to see the whole picture, bring us to a mountain for a bigger view. Strengthen us in the climb, and comfort us in our descent, so that we will have what it takes to live the life of faith to which you call us. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Jesus rested, you can too (Feb 7, 2021)

Full service is here. Sermon starts around 27 min.

Epiphany 5B

February 7, 2021

Mark 1:29-39

Isaiah 40:21-31

INTRODUCTION

Jesus’ first impression last week, a dramatic healing of a man possessed by an unclean spirit, set the tone for his ministry, and today we see it continue to play out, as his fame spreads. Mark offers us today “a day in the life of Jesus,” as we watch him go from the synagogue to his friend’s mother-in-law’s house to heal her, to the city where everyone with any sort of ailment comes knocking for help. His reputation as one who confronts evil and brings healing is growing. But Mark also feels it important to mention that Jesus takes a rest – notice that he actually will stop and take a moment for himself to pray, before moving on to keep proclaiming the good news. Good modeling, Jesus! 

Isaiah also speaks to the fatigue that comes from, well, from life! Today’s reading brings us back to the time of exile, actually just as they are learning that they will be returning to Jerusalem after being in exile for 70 years. The Israelites are understandably worried about the long trip – 1000 miles journey, on foot! God assures them that, while it will be long and arduous, they will be able to make it, because God will not let them fall. A wonderful promise as we, too, continue to trudge through our own exhausting moment in history!

In both of these stories, and in Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, we will see a theme of God empowering the weak and weary, and that this strengthening is ultimately for a purpose: the next step of healing (in body, mind or spirit) is service. As you listen, consider from what you need healing, and how such healing would equip you for serving God and neighbor. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

        This week, on one of my favorite podcasts, On Being with Krista Tippett, I listened to an interview with civil rights elder, Gwendolyn Zahorah Simmons, who is now a member of the National Council of Elders. She was interviewed by Rev. Lucas Johnson, who is the Executive Director of On Being’s Civil Conversations and Social Healing project, and is also an American Baptist Minister. “Mother Simmons,” as he called her, was raised Christian, and is now a practicing Muslim, so their conversation was laced with spiritual, faith-filled language about connection with God and time for meditation. All of this spiritual reflection was around the interviewer’s primary question to her: When you are utterly exhausted from the work of social healing – holding government to account, reconciliation in the midst of relationships and families, and simply staying alive and healthy during a pandemic – what do you do to be well or find healing in the midst of all that? Mother Simmons recalled her days with the grueling Mississippi Freedom Summer of 1964 (if you don’t know what that is, I encourage you to read about it, especially during this Black History Month – Mississippi Freedom Summer was an effort to register black voters in Mississippi, which was met with much resistance and violence). Simmons spoke in the interview of the work she has continued to do with civil rights organizing and deep social healing, and that was all great stuff… but I admit I was really taken with and stuck on the initial question: how do you find healing from your exhaustion?

     The reason it piqued my interest, I think, is that I don’t normally think of needing healing from exhaustion. Rest, yes, but healing? But now I don’t know why I never made that connection, because indeed, exhaustion can be debilitating. It can break us and our relationships. And when that exhaustion is a result of so much important work we are doing (like the healing work that Mother Simmons did, on a social level, and that so many people in many different realms are doing today!), when we believe so deeply in the importance of the work we are doing, it can be even harder to pull away for a moment to get the healing we need. But healing work is exhausting, and the healer needs to be healthy in order for their good work to continue.

If you’re anything like me, you know this in your head, but may not be as good at practicing it. In fact, just a couple weeks ago, our own council chastised me (“finger-wagged” was the word they used) for not taking all of my vacation last year. The next week, my colleagues did the same. “Johanna!” they urged, “You need to get away somewhere and rest!” 

But that’s difficult for many of us, isn’t it? I think many of us struggle at least at times to balance the pressing needs of this world and those we love with our own need for rest and healing. And it may seem at times impossible to take a break, to put aside all responsibilities and just go for a hike or get immersed in a hobby or pray for goodness sake, while our phones, texts, and emails are left unanswered. Resting just seems self-indulgent and irresponsible. Shouldn’t the third of our lives we spend sleeping be enough rest?

Of course, if you need biblical precedent for the importance of rest, especially for the healer, you need look no further than our Gospel text for today. Maybe it doesn’t seem that way at first: in characteristic Markan form, the narrative of this “day in the life of Jesus” is rapid fire, three stories, all crammed into one short reading. Jesus first heals Peter’s mother-in-law. Then we hear about how quickly Jesus’ fame as a healer spread, such that “the whole city” was soon enough crowded at his door, wanting to be healed. Poor guy! People with everything from indigestion to a demon possession are begging for his attention, begging for his healing touch. And Jesus delivers, healing many of them and casting out demons left and right.

It is no wonder that he needed some time to himself. And so in the very next line, Mark tells us that Jesus got up early the next day, before the dawn, before anyone could come begging for his attention, and he went to a quiet and deserted place by himself. And there, he prayed. 

I need to read this brief verse in Mark every day. I need to remind myself every day that Jesus carved out time from his busy day and life’s demands, even as he knew that people were clamoring for his attention, even as he knew how much more work needed to be done – he carved out some time to spend in a deserted place all by himself, and there he prayed. It is a sharp contrast to the bookending stories, which are nearly frantic in mood as people hunt for him and beg and need, need, need – but here we see only Jesus, in the quiet darkness. And there he prayed.

Jesus, we say, is the only sinless human ever to live. If he is without sin, then by God, it turns out taking time for ourselves must not be self-indulgent and irresponsible after all! In fact, Mother Simmons said the same thing, as has Mother Theresa (who took time out from her important work to pray 5 times a day), as have countless other spiritual leaders. And of course, even God said the same thing; right from the beginning, God showed us the importance of Sabbath rest. On the seventh day, after creation was complete, God rested. God found rest so important that it was included in the 10 commandments: Remember the Sabbath, to keep it holy. It is so important, that God continued to remind the Israelites about it throughout the Hebrew Bible, urging rest for slaves, servants, kings, aliens, wanderers… everyone. 

And it is so important that Jesus himself practices it. He does it here, in our text today. He does it before he is about to endure a most humiliating death, when he goes out to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray by himself. He does it at other points in his ministry. Rest and prayer, it would seem, are an essential part of a faithful life. They are essential to bring healing and endurance to those who pursue the kingdom of God.

Because notice what happens next: Jesus doesn’t stay there, resting and praying by himself. His disciples find him, and tell him of all the needs he still has to tend to. “Everyone is looking for you!” they tell him. And Jesus gets right back up and says, “Okay, let’s go. I was sent here to proclaim the message of God’s kingdom, and that is exactly what I will do. Let’s go and bring new life to this aching world.” And they go on to the next city to continue doing God’s work. The time for rest and prayer that he took was necessary – after all, not only is he only human, he is also divine, and the Bible shows us that human and divine alike need their rest! But it was also necessary so that he would be able to continue to do God’s work.

This, too, is something I need to remember. Rest is not self-indulgent. It is not irresponsible. It is not lazy. It is time that is essential for healing, and for gaining the strength necessary to work for the kingdom of God: to be present with the sick, to comfort the brokenhearted, to tend to the poor and hungry, to work for justice and proclaim truth. These things cannot be done without spending time resting with God.

As our closing prayer today, I would like to read a part of our passage from Isaiah, which echoes so well this same sentiment. Let us pray…

God, you give power to the faint, and strengthen the powerless. Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will fall exhausted; but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings of eagles. They shall not be weary. They shall walk, and not be faint. May it be so with us, Lord. May it be so with us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.