Sermon: Belonging to the flock (April 21, 2024)

Easter 4B
April 21, 2024
John 10:10b-18

INTRODUCTION

Every year, the 4th Sunday of the Easter season is Good Shepherd Sunday, when we lift up this beloved early image of Jesus – and, it turns out, an image used for God since long before Jesus walked the earth. The shepherd metaphor was frequently used for kings in the Ancient Near East. We also see the shepherd vocation connected to some of the most important people in scripture: Moses was a shepherd when he first heard God’s call through the burning bush; David was a shepherd before being anointed King of Israel, and of course who were the first to hear the good news of Jesus’ birth? The shepherds! 

But the most famous scriptural reference to shepherds is from the beloved 23rd Psalm, which begins, “The Lord is my shepherd.” We’ll sing that today, as we do every year on this Sunday. Though we often hear this one at funerals, we’ll hear it today in the context of Easter, the season of resurrection and new life.

In our Gospel, Jesus will identify himself as “the good shepherd,” and describe what this means: that he would (and does!) lay down his life for the sheep (a sentiment we’ll also hear in our second reading today). If Jesus is the shepherd, then we are the de facto sheep of his flock, the ones for whom he lays down his life. This snippet is a part of a larger discourse in which Jesus interprets his healing of a man who was born blind, a man who is subsequently thrown out of his community – but Jesus goes to him, and we catch a glimpse of how seriously Jesus takes his promise that we are “the people of God’s pasture, and the sheep of God’s hand.”

As you listen, consider how that feels and what it means to be a part of Jesus’ flock – both for our own hearts, and as guidance for how to live as God’s faithful people. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

Jesus as the Good Shepherd, mosaic, 5th c.
Galla Placidia Mausoleum, Ravenna, Italy.

Alleluia, Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Grace to you and peace from our risen Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Last week after worship, our council held our annual retreat. This year’s retreat was the first of three sessions we will hold with Pastor Imani Olear, our synod’s Director for Evangelical Mission, as she helps us to interpret and use the results of the Congregational Vitality Assessment our congregation took earlier this year. As I mentioned in a sermon back in Lent, one of the areas she has lifted up as an area of growth for us, based on that assessment, is cultivating a sense of belonging, spaces where we can truly connect with one another, with God, and with our community. In that sermon in February, I pointed out that true belonging is difficult to come by, observing that many of us have precious few places or people with whom we feel we truly belong. And yet scripture seems pretty clear that belonging is a part of God’s kingdom and promise. And – in that sermon, I quoted today’s Gospel reading as one example of this.

In this passage, Jesus calls himself the “good shepherd” – something different from a hired hand who would abandon the sheep in their hour of need. No, for Jesus, the shepherd belongs to the sheep as much as the sheep belong to the shepherd, such that he would even lay down his life for them. Even those who do not belong to his fold, Jesus says he will go to them, and bring them in, and they will listen to his voice. 

Though the word “belong” is only used once in today’s passage, I think it still has a lot to teach us about what it means to belong – to Christ, and to one another.

Let’s start with belonging to Christ. Jesus says, “The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” This concept is such an integral piece of the Christian faith, it can be easy just to take it for granted, right – “Yeah, yeah, Jesus died for us and rose again, I know.” But what does that actually mean for our lives, like, concretely, day to day? 

Well in terms of cultivating a sense of belonging, that belonging starts with this assurance, that Christ would and does do this for us! Think about it: we spend our lives thinking and hoping that we can do or get something that will make us feel fulfilled, settled, and like we belong. And yet to do this, we often look toward things that cannot deliver on this promise. That new car, house, or outfit. The relationship with that person we hope will finally appreciate us. That politician who promises to make our lives better. That promotion that makes us feel validated and appreciated. Surely, we think, something in this world can deliver on making us feel seen, known, and loved, and then we can live an abundant life! And yet that car got a flat, the house needs repair, and the outfit got stained. The relationship got difficult because people are people. The politician didn’t deliver, and the promotion just meant more work without more satisfaction. 

All of this can take its toll: nothing seems to give us what we crave, and we start to wonder if maybe we’re just not worth it. Self-doubt creeps in, and we think, “Well I guess I’m not trying hard enough, or I’m not smart enough, or I’m not rich enough or attractive or strong enough. I’m not good enough.” From there it is a just a short step further to, “I’m not worth it. I do not belong, because no one wants me here. I am not enough.” 

But Jesus’ words here say the opposite. “The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” Not, “The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep who impress me with their wit, charm, or ability.” No, it is all the sheep. All the sheep are worthy of this gift. And in fact, Jesus will actively seek out those who may have strayed, who feel they don’t belong, so that they, too, will hear his voice, so they won’t miss this good news: there is no litmus test to belonging to the Good Shepherd. You are a sheep of God’s pasture, and God would literally do anything to be in relationship with you, to “abide” with you, even lay down his life. You are worth it. You are accepted. You belong here.

Once we are assured that we do belong to and with Jesus, that we are worthy of this gift, we are in a place where we can hear the next bit: I know my own, and my own know me. Whenever I ask people what makes them feel they belong, I hear some version of this: “when I feel like people know me and accept me for who I am, even if we are different.” Being known and accepted is essential to feeling a sense of belonging. So that makes it all the more stunning that Jesus, who has just already assured us that nothing we can do will make him want to kick us out of the fold, is offering this incredible truth – that he feels that way, even though he knows us deeply. Yeah, like, knows not only the carefully crafted self that we show to the world, but also all of our less than charitable thoughts, the grudges we hold, the times we yelled at our kids (or our parents!), the unhealthy habits and practices we engage in. Jesus “knows his own” – all of us – and still assures us we belong, still assures us that he would lay down his life for us, would and does do anything to be close to us. 

That’s great news, but it’s not the end for us. Not only does the Good Shepherd know us. He says, “and they know me.” That has some important implications. First, there is a call there – that as people who are a part of the flock, we strive toward knowledge of God. Being a part of regular worship is a part of that, of course. So is a regular prayer practice, by which we talk to God and listen to God’s voice. So is trying to know God better through study of scripture. All of these help us to live into that statement, “and they know me.” 

Another aspect of knowing the Good Shepherd, though, is knowing the flock, the very flock for which he lays down his life. We are, after all, the body of Christ, the human beings made in God’s image, the Spirit-gathered and Spirit-filled expression of God’s continuing presence here on earth. And so, we can come to know and love God by seeking to know and love one another, and to be known by one another. 

What I’m trying to say is this: all this Good Shepherd talk about knowing and being known by God, and hearing God’s voice, and belonging to God is very nice and feels good. But where it becomes concrete for us and meaningful in our day-to-day life is when it becomes incarnational, that is, where we see it actually lived out among God’s people. Where we seek to know one another and be vulnerable enough to be known. Where we open our hearts to be seen and loved by another, and seek out ways to love another’s open heart. Where we make the effort to move beyond surface chit-chat, and find meaningful connections with one another – in joy, and in pain. 

This might happen in Bible study – in fact, I know it does, because I have experienced it. It might happen in a Fellowship Friends outing, or at a church clean-up day, or during a service project, or serving on the council. It might happen by taking the effort to seek out someone at coffee hour whom you do not yet know much about, and asking them about their week, about their family, about what they do that is meaningful in their lives. Something like, “What’s bring you joy these days?” “What made you feel grateful this week?” “What are you learning about lately, or what skill are you trying to improve?” or, “What are you looking forward to in the coming week?” In fact, take a moment right now – I’m not going to make you talk (yet!), but I want you to look around you (side to side, front and back), and find someone you don’t know much about, and make a goal of asking them about their week (last week or the upcoming one) during coffee hour. You could try to pass the peace with them and introduce yourself (low stakes), and then follow up after worship. I have even made sure there will be treats today, so you have extra incentive to stay! Now I know, some of you just like to slip out quietly after worship (I see you, introverts). I get that: I’m not going to bar the doors or anything. But I will challenge even you to at least greet one more person than you would otherwise on your way out. Make one person feel like they belong here, like they belong to Christ, like you are glad they are here. 

Whether or not you participate in my challenge, know this: you do belong here. You are the people of God’s pasture and the sheep of God’s hand, and there is nothing you could do to change that. Jesus already knows you inside and out, and still wants you here, among his own. You are loved, and you are enough.

Let us pray… Good Shepherd, we sometimes feel unworthy of love and belonging. Help us remember that with you, we always belong. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.  

Full service can be viewed HERE.

Sermon: Cherish the wound (April 13, 2024)

Easter 3B
April 14, 2024
Luke 24:36b-48

INTRODUCTION

Each of our readings today reflects the arc of death to life that is so central to this Easter season. Peter’s speech in Acts immediately follows a miraculous healing, in Jesus’ name, of a man who can’t walk. People are understandably amazed, and Peter responds basically, “Well duh! That’s what God can do! God brings life and wholeness!”

1 John gives a sense of how we are always moving away from sin and toward what we shall become, because we are children of God. I love to quote this first verse when I do baptisms, because that is the trajectory of our baptized life, always moving from death into life. 

Today’s Gospel reading is about what happens right after the wonderful story about the Road to Emmaus. You remember that one? I’ll review it in my sermon; for now, know that this story happens Easter evening, when the only evidence of the resurrection that they have to go on is the women’s story. Now Jesus has begun appearing to people, and it is a highly emotional time. They are just starting to figure out what is happening when Jesus suddenly appears to the whole group, and that is what we will hear today. 

A phrase you will hear in two of our readings today is, “You are witnesses.” A witness, of course, is someone who sees something, and tells others about it. The telling part is important, but you can’t tell something you don’t see. So as you listen, also watch – watch for ways you see Christ, see restoration and transformation, and think about where you are still seeing Christ restore and redeem in your life today. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia! 

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

Each spring, our Dorcas Rachel Women’s Group reads a book together and discusses it. This year’s book, which we discussed this past Thursday, was called The Choice: Embrace the Possible, by Dr. Edith Eger. Dr. Eger is an Auschwitz survivor who, after the war, came as a refugee to the United States, and eventually got her doctorate and become a renowned psychologist. The memoir is a story of survival and healing – first we see the resilience to survive a death camp, then her journey toward healing and wholeness following this traumatic experience. When she is first liberated from the camp and tries to get on with her life, she does everything she can to shove away all the memories of her past that cause her such pain. She does not tell her own children that she survived Auschwitz, and gets physically ill when her young daughter discovers this on her own. She is plagued by migraines and debilitating flashbacks and panic attacks. One day a young man hands her Viktor Frankl’s book, Man’s Search for Meaning, and her life changes. In reading Frankl’s own experience in death camps, she comes to realize that there is healing to be found in sharing our stories, rather than keeping them silent. As she observes later, “You can’t heal what you won’t feel.” You cannot erase the pain you have felt; you can only accept who you are and what has happened or been done to you, and then move on. She was liberated from the physical camp by a US soldier, but she was liberated from the prison she had made for herself by this realization. She then devotes her life to seeking out healing for herself and others by giving space to tell our stories, feel our emotions, and bear witness to others.

It’s a remarkable story, full of life-giving insights, and I recommend it! And, because I spent a lot of time reading it this week, I saw similar themes in today’s Gospel reading. First, recall the context of this story from Luke: this is the evening of Easter. According to Luke, the women at the tomb saw that it was empty and went to tell the disciples, most of whom dismissed their story as “an idle tale.” That was the morning. Now it is evening, and just before this, we have walked alongside two men, Cleopas and his friend, on the way to Emmaus. Jesus walks with them, but they don’t recognize him. At Jesus’ prompting, they tell him about this crazy few days they have just had – about Jesus’ ministry, his death, and his alleged resurrection, the women’s “idle tale.” In response Jesus “opens to them the holy scriptures,” and their hearts “burn within” them. They stop for a meal, and when Jesus breaks bread, voila, they suddenly recognize him! But as soon as they realize their companion’s identity, Jesus (poof) vanishes. They run back to Jerusalem to find the others, to share what they have seen, and they learn from the 11 that Peter, too, has seen the risen Lord.

Our Gospel today begins with, “While they were talking about this” – all this is what it refers to. This is the context. You can imagine the emotions are crazy right about now. Disbelief, alarm, joy, amazement, wonder – Luke names them for us. What he doesn’t name is that there is still lingering grief. These disciples have experienced a serious trauma. Watching Jesus die was certainly part of it. But also, can you imagine the regret they feel? The shame? They abandoned him! And now, if Jesus is back… will he call them out on that? Will they have to face those regrets, that guilt and shame over their actions? And what if this isn’t real – can they risk letting their hearts be hopeful, only to have them slammed again by a crushing reality? What if Jesus only came back spiritually? What if all these people only had visions of him? Can they really risk their hearts?

And into all of this mess of joy, shame, wonder, disbelief, regret, and amazement… Jesus shows up. And he doesn’t accuse, or lecture, or chastise. He offers those life-giving if also unbelievable words: “Peace be with you.” The words give a sense of health and well-being, that untroubled state of being forgiven. 

I love these words, and I love how often Jesus utters them in those first post-resurrection appearances because they are an immediate salve to the pain the disciples must be feeling. But what caught my attention this week, and what made me connect it with Edith Eger’s story, is the next bit, where Jesus invites them to, “Look at my hands and feet and see that it is I myself. Touch me and see.” Touch my wounds, my scars – which are not only physical remnants of Jesus’ suffering and death, but memories of Jesus’ broken heart, and triggers of the regret and shame the disciples must feel. Touch them, he says, so that there may be no mistake that they do exist. Touch them and see; do not avoid or look away. 

When Edith comes to America with her husband and daughter, she has every intention of leaving behind her old life and starting a new one. “We are American now,” she says, “and we will do as Americans do.” She closes the book on her past – on the pain of her memories, the trauma of the camp, the grief for those she has lost, the regret she has for the choices she made that she fears resulted in loss, the immense survivor’s guilt. She does not want to look at it or see it. She does not want to touch it. She wants a new life.

And yet, the irony she finds is that she cannot live fully into her new life unless she looks directly at all that stuff she had locked up and left behind. She cannot find peace as long as her pain remains hidden; she cannot find healing as long as it is ignored. She must feel the emotions – because as she says, “You can’t heal if you won’t feel.” 

The rest of the book describes Dr. Eger’s journey toward becoming a psychologist, and the many people she helps to find healing. As she walks alongside her patients, she also continues her own journey of healing. In one incredibly moving encounter with a Vietnam veteran, she observes, “To heal is to cherish the wound.” To heal is to cherish the wound – not love that it happened, not continue to dwell in it or be pulled into its pain… but to see it, accept it as something that happened to you, recognize its role in making you who you are, and then move on. 

I hear this and I think of Jesus, saying to his emotional disciples, “Look at my hands and my feet. Touch me and see.” Cherish this wound, and you will heal. Cherish it, and you will find life. Acknowledge what happened – the devastation it brought, the guilt, shame and regret it left behind – and see it for what it is. Touch and see. And then, then, step forward into the new life that comes as a result. 

I personally have over 20 physical scars of various sizes. They are mostly from cancer-related surgeries, but also from injuries mostly from my childhood. I used to hate them, as they reminded me of some of the most challenging times of my life, times when I was broken. But over time I’ve started to cherish them, as Dr. Eger urges. I cherish them because they are reminders of my survival, of times I suffered, yes, but also lived through pain, and by God’s help I came out the other side. But my favorite marks are five small tattoos I received when I got radiation treatments as a teenager for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. They are small blue dots here…[point]. When taken together, they make the sign of the cross, a profound reminder that through all those wounds, Christ was with me, his cross marked not only invisibly on my brown, but permanently in blue ink across my heart, my core. I can (and do!) touch them, touch him, and see that he is really, truly there with me. 

Even without the tattoos, of course, Christ is with you, too. In this emotionally fraught story, and in our own, he shows up – in a conversation, at a meal, in the operating room, in the lawyer’s office, at a bedside. He cares for us in our woundedness, because he is, himself, wounded. He is present for us in our regret and shame, urging us to look at the wound, to touch it, and then, having found healing, to step into new life.

Let us pray… Wounded Healer, we bear the pain and sometimes even the physical marks of our past trauma and struggles, and often would prefer not to look at it. Yet you come to us in our grief and invite us to touch and see – so that we would also see and know that you can take brokenness and turn it into new life and liberation from that which would bind us. Grant us the courage to do it! In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Full service can be viewed HERE.

Easter Sermon: That big ol' stone (March 31, 2024)

Easter Sunday
March 31, 2024
Mark 16

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

by Natalie Cincotta, 2021

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

I am a planner, and a lover of lists. Any other list-lovers and planners out there? Jenna, our office administrator, and I share this love of lists. In the past months, Jenna and I have been working on developing a better system for keeping track of our shared and respective lists, so that no details fall through the cracks – especially at busy times of year like Holy Week and Easter! We’ve tried a white board, and post-its, and planners, and various online tools. Thankfully there is no lack of organizational aids out there!

You know, I was thinking the women who went to the tomb that first Easter morning could have really benefitted from some of these tools, because they forget some pretty important details. Some things they remember: Mary Magdalene acquires the myrrh, and Salome the aloes. Mary the mother of James decides when and where they will meet, and they are on their way to do the job they hadn’t been able to do when Jesus died, because it was the sabbath. Check, check, check, they’re good to go, right? As they are walking along by the dim light of the rising sun, Mary Magdalene suddenly turns to the other Mary and says, “You figured out the stone situation, right?”

Mary looks startled. “What, you mean how we’re moving it? Um, no, that was Salome’s job.” Salome says, “No, no, I ground the aloe and mixed it with the myrrh. I was not on stone duty.” Mary Magdalene says, “Well it wasn’t on my list!” Salome, always one to strive for excellence, but admittedly fragile because of the grief of the past days, begins to fret, tearing up. “Well, what are we going to do, then? Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” Mary, mother of James agrees: “That stone is very large, and surely too heavy for us to move ourselves!” Mary Magdalene, always eager to solve a problem, is also finding the emotion of the past days to overwhelm her. But she scans her brain for something, anything, that might help them know what to do. How could they have let this detail in their planning for this morning fall through the cracks?? This is not good.

Suddenly, Mary stops. Salome, blinded by her tears, runs into Mary’s back, and the other Mary gasps. There, before them is the tomb, and that big ol’ stone that had caused them to fret. But their worry is for naught, for the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back.

I just love this detail, which only Mark includes in his telling of the resurrection. “[The women] had been saying to one another, ‘Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?’” Maybe I love it because this is exactly the sort of thing I’m always trying to prevent – letting some major detail fall through the cracks. I get it, ladies. I feel you. Add to it the load of grief that they are carrying – remember, these women stayed with Jesus to the bitter end on Friday, all the way to seeing where he was laid. They had followed him and provided for him in Galilee and traveled with him to Jerusalem. They were devoted disciples who refused to leave him, and I can’t imagine their raw grief on that morning. It’s no wonder they forgot to figure out about the stone…

During the Lenten season, we have been engaging with the theme, A Seed of Joy. I admit, I don’t see a lot of joy in Mark’s Easter story! There is grief, and worry, and alarm, and astonishment, and terror and amazement… but no joy. In fact, Mark ends his Gospel by telling us that the women didn’t even tell anyone what they had seen, because they were so afraid! We don’t even get to see the risen Christ in this story! So, where is the joy?

Maybe that is also why I’m so drawn in by that large, seemingly immovable stone. After six weeks of daily and intentional prayer and reflection about joy… I still sometimes feel like joy is blocked, indeed like a large stone that I can’t possibly move myself no matter how much planning I do is holding back joy, and it can’t find a way out. We might as well ask ourselves: “Who will move that big stone – that stone that would keep us in a joyless place of death, that would keep us from the new life that Jesus promises and died to give us? Who will unblock my joy?”

And here, my friends, is where I think Mark does give us some joy. Because the women fretted, and worried, and wondered how that stone could ever be moved, and what did they find? That they needn’t worry, because they were not in charge of moving that stone all by themselves. In faithfulness and devotion, they showed up to find that God could do that work. Indeed, that God had done that work. 

So I ask you on this Easter Sunday: do you resonate with this? Do you, too, find something heavy or large blocking your ability to experience joy, and new life? Do you feel like the task of moving that thing is insurmountable, even out of your control or ability?

And then this: is it possible that God could do that, or is doing it for you?

Well, I’m sure you know what I think: the answer is yes, God could, and is! Yet it can be hard to see or even believe it sometimes. It is kind of an unbelievable story, isn’t it – this story we come here each year to proclaim and hear about a man who loved and taught even the weak and the outcasts, who then suffered and died at the hands of a hostile government, who was buried, but, who refused to stay dead, who left behind him an empty tomb and a promise for a future of newness and life. Even the women who witnessed it firsthand had a hard time wrapping their heads around it.

And yet… unbelievable as it is, have we not seen it happen ourselves, in our own lives? Not with these exact details, of course, but do we not all have stories of times we struggled and worked and tried all by ourselves to make something happen, all to no avail, and it was only when we stepped back and let God intervene that we found that rock moved, and a new opportunity emerge? I know I have fought like the hell of those three days in the tomb to make things happen, things I thought were right. I know I have wept bitter tears when I couldn’t bring it about myself. And, I know I have been amazed when God gently came beside me in these moments and said, “Here, let me,” and moved aside that big ol’ stone, and showed me a different way, something I wouldn’t have believed in my grief, a way that did bring about a newness of life which that ol’ stone wouldn’t let me see. God doesn’t let us off the hook, mind you – we are a part of this story of resurrection and new life, and partners with God, who equips us for the work ahead – but the responsibility to bring about this hopeful future is not ours alone. God does that with and for us.

It doesn’t always happen in the way we hoped or imagined – in fact, it seldom does. But then again, who would have expected God’s own Son, the Messiah, to be murdered and then risen from the dead? Even though Jesus said explicitly three different times that this would happen, they still didn’t expect or believe it! But I reckon, if we could put away our fret about how we will move aside those big stones, even put aside our careful planning for a moment (with apologies to my fellow list-lovers) and let God step in, we might just find an unexpected pathway to hope, to joy, and to a new life we couldn’t possibly have expected or accomplished on our own. 

Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Let us pray… God of resurrection and new life, we get so concerned with the stones, the barriers that block our way, thinking we have to move them ourselves. Embolden us to trust that you can make a way out of no way, possibility out of endings, and even life out of death. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

View the service HERE.