Sermon: Loving the unlovable, just like Jesus (May 15, 2022)

 Full service HERE.

Easter 5C
May 15, 2022
John 13:31-35

INTRODUCTION

Here is something quirky about the lectionary, the predetermined readings for any given Sunday: today’s Gospel, in the middle of the Easter season, takes us back to Maundy Thursday. The exchange we hear today is at the beginning of Jesus’ Farewell Discourse, and happens right after Jesus washes the disciples’ feet, and before they all head out to garden, where Judas will lead a group of soldiers to arrest Jesus. So, some chronological whiplash going on! We won’t hear about the foot-washing today, but we will hear the “new commandment, to love one another as [Jesus] has loved you.” How does that land differently during Holy Week than it does now, as we still celebrate the resurrection?

This somewhat strange story from Acts dovetails nicely with that commandment. To this point in Acts, Peter’s ministry has been to Jewish communities who have become followers of Christ, rather than to Gentiles. Remember, Jews had a stringent set of dietary and other laws (circumcision, for example) that they followed in order to set them apart as God’s chosen people. Gentiles did not follow those rules, and so until now, they had not been a part of the Christian community. But this vision Peter will describe, which he says happens three times, blows apart the idea that Gentiles are not included in God’s chosen people. Just as no food is excluded, so also are no people excluded from God’s love.

In truth, these are a couple of radical texts for today! Add to that John of Patmos’s revelation in our second reading of a new heaven and a new earth in which “death with be no more, mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away,” and wow! There is lots of hope to be had this day! I’m grateful you are here for it. As you listen, hear that hope offered also for you: hope of acceptance, and love, and restoration, no matter what you are facing. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

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

In the exchange we overhear from John’s Gospel today, we get a chance to hear in essence Jesus’ deathbed request of his disciples. And Jesus’ command for them is not, “Pray daily,” or “read your Bible,” or, “maintain doctrinal purity” or, “worship the right way.” No, his last command to his disciples, the most important thing, is, “love one another as I have loved you.”  

Love one another as I have loved you. Seems pretty straightforward, right? Pretty foundational. I think we can all agree that this is a pretty central tenet of our faith, right? And yet somehow… it isn’t. Not that we don’t mean for it to be, but rather, because sometimes loving each other – especially loving each other in the same radical and self-giving way that Jesus has loved us – is really, really hard. As New Testament scholar D.A. Carson says, “This new command is simple enough for a toddler to memorize and appreciate, and yet it is profound enough that the mature believers are repeatedly embarrassed at how poorly they comprehend it and put it into practice.”

What is so hard about it? I can think of a few things. Like, love takes a lot of work and physical and emotional energy. It’s way easier just to be apathetic, or to not take the time or effort to really hear someone’s pain, or to bite back when someone says or does something hurtful. Another reason that loving someone is difficult is that it is very vulnerable – love opens our hearts to being wounded by loss, or being hurt, or betrayed. If we avoid loving people too much or too deeply, we can save ourselves a lot of heartache. If we keep our circle very small, we can avoid a lot of pain. Yet another reason: some people are just mean, or evil. They manipulate us, harm us, or they walk into a Tops and start shooting black people. It is especially hard to love someone like that!

And yet, Jesus’ commandment is not, “Love a select few,” or, “Love when it isn’t too much trouble.” The commandment, Jesus’ dying request, is, “Love one another as I have loved you” – that is, genuinely, deeply, and self-sacrificially. So I think we ought to take it seriously, right? We ought to take it so seriously that it guides not only what we do at church, but also what we do the rest of the week: in our relationships with family, friends and co-workers, in the ways we choose to spend our money, in the ways we decide to vote, and how we form opinions about the biggest ethical issues of our day. Because if our faith provides our foundation for how we live, and this commandment is a foundational aspect of that faith, it should be the lens through which we view everything we do, right?

So let’s bring this commandment into a more concrete context. We all have people in our lives whom we find it especially difficult to love, right? It might be someone very close to you – a family member, perhaps, or someone you have to see every day at work. Or maybe, the place you find it most difficult to love one another is when you consume the news, and you find your heart filled not with love but with anger and disdain for a politician or group. I know how easy it is just to give in to those feelings of what we feel is justified anger and disdain. After all - those people are terrible. And yet, does Jesus love them? Did Jesus die also for them? Yup. And so how can we live into Jesus’ commandment, and love them, too?

First off, I want to clarify that loving someone is not the same as liking them, agreeing with them, or condoning their actions. Not at all. There is plenty going on in the world that must not be condoned. Loving one another sometimes looks like holding to account, and fighting for more loving action toward the vulnerable. Love isn’t always sweetness and roses and kind words. Sometimes love is speaking the truth, even the painful truth, but doing it in love. But love should never look like hatred of another person. It may be hatred of their words or actions, but not of the person themselves – for they, like you, are a person created in the image of God, a person worthy of love, a person just as dearly in need of God’s grace and forgiveness as all of us. 

So with that in mind, how can we go about loving someone who is difficult to love? One faithful way to do this is simply to pray for them. And I don’t mean, pray that they would go away and not come back. I mean, pray for their well-being, that they would be open to God’s will, that they would shine God’s light in this broken world. Pray that they would know God’s love, and be transformed by it, just as we all long to be transformed by that love. 

Sometimes, I know, even this prayer is too difficult, especially when it is for someone who has hurt us. In this case, when I don’t have the words, I have sometimes let my prayer be simply to visualize the person, and in my imagination to surround them with light. To imagine them surrounded in the light of Christ. This image and practice regularly softens my heart, and eventually, words may be able to accompany the image. 

Another way to love someone difficult to love is to see them not for the ways they have hurt or offended us, but for the ways that they, too, struggle. As we teach our children, hurt people hurt people – that is, people who harm others are acting out of their own pain. So strive to see them as people who are as broken and searching and longing as we all are. Find compassion for that pain (not the resulting action, just the pain!). Pray for relief from that pain. Love will follow.

It’s all so much easier said than done, I know. And please know that I am preaching to myself as well today! But it is so important. Because as hard as it is, I believe that this seemingly simple command, to love one another, is what might start to bring about that new heaven and new earth that John talks about in our reading from Revelation. In this vision we hear about at the end of the book, John describes a new heaven and earth in which there will be no more crying or pain, death or mourning. It is a vision of pure hope. It is the reality that we long for, the reality we cling to in this faith. It is a vision of peace and harmony and – dare I say – love. Is it possible that we could catch a glimpse of this new reality, even today?

You don’t have to agree with someone to love them. You don’t even really have to like someone to love them with Christian love. Remember that Jesus offers this new commandment on the night he was betrayed, denied, and deserted by his best friends – I’m betting he wasn’t too pleased with them that night, and yet he never ceases to love them, and indeed expresses in word and deed the most humbly radical sort of love. So it seems, loving someone as Jesus loves us doesn’t mean liking or approving of their actions. But it does mean seeing them as children of God who are worthy of God’s love, children of God for whom Jesus died and rose again, for whom God through Christ conquered death so that we all could live with God in eternal life. To love one another with this love is more powerful than disagreement, more powerful than disappointment, more powerful than the difficulty of forgiveness. Indeed to love someone with God’s love is more powerful than anything else on this earth. 

Let us pray… Loving God, you bid us to love one another as you love us, but in our human brokenness, we often find this difficult. Give us courage to love those we find unlovable, to see each person as a child of God who is worthy of love. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen

Sermon: Jesus in between us (May 8, 2022)

CW: This sermon addresses the leak from the Supreme Court, which indicated the possibility of a decision that would overturn Roe v. Wade. On a day when we are thinking about women - both Mothers' Day and hearing the story of Tabitha, it felt important to address.

Full sermon HERE. (This link misses the first part of the service, begins at 2nd reading.)

Easter 4C
May 8, 2022
Acts 9:36-43
John 10:22-30

INTRODUCTION

This 4th Sunday of Easter is always known as Good Shepherd Sunday – we hear Psalm 23 (“The Lord is my shepherd”), and a chapter of John’s Gospel where Jesus talks about being the Good Shepherd. It’s a beloved and comforting image, and one of the first images ever used for Jesus, and one worth reflecting on during this Easter season each year. 

First in Acts, we will hear the story of Dorcas – another person of importance to St. Paul’s, because that is the name of our women’s group. They are named for this woman of faith. The only time the feminine version of the word “disciple” is used is in reference to Dorcas, which is a pretty great legacy! As you listen to this text, think of the women in your life who have shepherded you in your faith, who have shown you Christ by the way they lived their lives.

In our reading from John, Jesus does not actually call himself a shepherd, but he does call us his sheep. Earlier in this chapter he does call himself the Good Shepherd, but today’s story takes place some two months later, during Hanukkah, a festival whose central symbol is light. And so, it is appropriate that the Jews will, on this festival celebrating light, ask for some clarity about who Jesus is. But Jesus won’t give them a straight answer (typical!). We won’t hear what happens next, but I’ll tell you – they are unimpressed and try to arrest him! Those in the first century craved clear answers as much as we do.

As you listen, consider what it means to be a sheep, with Christ as our shepherd. Where do you hear the voice of your shepherd? What is it saying to you today? Let’s listen. 

[READ]

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

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Good Shepherd, Jesus Christ. Amen.

“How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly!” I feel this request from “the Jews” deep in my bones. I hear this and think it sounds very much like my own prayers these days. “How long until you start answering my prayers, Jesus? How long will you keep us in suspense? Temperatures reached 140 degrees in parts of India last week. The earth is warming in ways incompatible with human life. Will you intervene? Several people got shot this week in my city. Where were you? The war in Ukraine is more horrifying every day. Do you care? I’m drowning in my own struggles, and I could use some help here. If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly – tell us by doing something about the brokenness in this world!” 

And then, on top of all that, there was this major leak this week of a draft of the Supreme Court decision on Roe v. Wade. Some are thrilled, others are terrified by the potential loss of rights (both reproductive and others), and many are reliving past traumas. After the leak hit the news, social and traditional media blew up with adamant diatribes on each side of the issue, and people hit the streets to make known their concerns. Like in so many hot issues these days, discourse isn’t always respectful, is often fiery and mean, and for all that, it turns out, no one is changing anyone’s mind.

It is certainly a hot, emotional, and difficult issue, fraught with traumatic memories and emotional pain for many (and it is not lost on me that this has come so forcefully into our public discourse in the week leading up to Mother’s Day, a day already highly emotional for many, in part because of this very issue!). We deeply desire for there to be a clear right and clear wrong answer on this. Well, not just on this. I’d say what we desire in most things is certainty. Black and white answers are so much simpler than reality – we want a clear right, and a clear wrong, so we know which side to stand on. And so, we claim anyone who believes differently from us is a baby-killer, or a woman-hater. Clear-cut, good/bad/ right/wrong answers make us feel solid and grounded. “Tell us plainly,” we say. “Tell us plainly what we are to believe. How long will you keep us in suspense?” 

Jesus is characteristically elusive in his response to the Jews. “I told you and you didn’t believe,” he says. “You do not believe because you do not belong to my sheep. My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.” Do you hear what he did there? Rather than give them the black and white answer they were looking for, he invited them into relationship: a relationship in which they speak to each other, and listen and know one another, and the sheep linger close to the shepherd. Let me say that another way: instead of giving them the certainty they crave and drawing a line in the sand, Jesus invites them into relationship. 

Throughout John’s Gospel, this is how Jesus defines what it is to have faith. It is to be in relationship with him, to abide with him. In John 1, we hear that Jesus came to earth to dwell with us. Here in John 10, he identifies as the Good Shepherd to the sheep, the one who doesn’t leave his sheep or let them be snatched away. In John 12 he says he came to draw all people to himself. In John 15 he identifies as the vine, and we are the branches, and he invites the disciples to abide in him. You see, in each instance, the emphasis is on relationship, closeness with Jesus. That is what it means to have faith: to be in relationship with Jesus, to hear his voice, and to follow him.

We know this, and yet, he also says in John that he gives us a new commandment, to love one another as he has loved us – in other words, to be in relationship also with one another. And the very people who have been given to us to love, we tear apart on the internet, or silently (or not so silently) judge them for their views, or perhaps we just avoid them altogether, preferring our silos of like-minded people. When we do this to each other, when we break or refuse to engage in loving relationship with those who differ, even if it is because we are certain we have the moral high ground – what makes us think we are still in right relationship with Jesus?

So, let’s take some time today to think through how to engage in this particular difficult topic faithfully – and especially as we also think about and give thanks for mothers, let us also keep in our hearts and prayers those for whom “motherhood” is a very complicated topic. 

First of all, if faith is relationship, let’s consider: what makes relationship possible? What makes is authentic? This brings to mind one of our mission milestones I introduced last week – we want this, St. Paul’s, to be a place where people connect genuinely, not just on the surface, and develop real friendships, not just acquaintanceships. Often we think friendships happen when people have things in common, and to some extent that is true. But while we may have an immediate liking for someone who shares our interests, we likely won’t connect genuinely with them until we have ventured into a place of vulnerability with them – that is, when we enter into the messy gray place in the middle of the absolute rights and wrongs on either side. I suspect that’s why Jesus doesn’t give them the “plain” answer they crave, and instead invites them into the gray: because facts don’t encourage dialogue. Black and white don’t give us anything to talk about, except how right we are and how wrong they are. Dialogue and connection and yes, relationship can only happen in the messy gray space in between.

Second, Jesus says that his sheep (aka the faithful) hear his voice and follow him. I really struggle with this, because there are so many competing voices out there, so how are we to know which one is really Jesus, and which ones are our own egos, and which ones are the devil himself? Is Jesus’ voice the one saying, “The unborn are completely innocent in this, and they shouldn’t be punished because of the choices of their parents.” Or is Jesus’ voice the one saying, “The people who will suffer the most if Roe is overturned are women who are already disadvantaged for various reasons – whether poverty or lack of support or pre-existing health concerns. Overturning Roe will only exacerbate the gap between the privileged and the under-privileged.” Which is it? They’re both good points. So how are we to know?

Well, if I may be so bold, here is the voice I think belongs to Jesus. It is the one that says, “This is complicated. There’s more to people’s stories than you can see. There is more pain here than one person can know. But I know it. Because I know my sheep. And I love my sheep.” 

And then, Jesus’ is the voice that invites us into that gray space between certainties, the space where we are willing to hear someone’s story with an open heart, to gently hold another’s pain, and to connect authentically with one another. Not everyone will be ready to share their story (there is a lot of trauma around this issue), but lovingly holding space for it without judgment is the main thing. That place of empathy and compassion is the place where faith happens, where love of neighbor happens, where relationship with Jesus and with each other happens. 

My friends, if you are hoping to hear the voice of Jesus, you will not find it in insults. You will not find it in insistence that you alone have the moral high ground. No, here is where you will find it: you will find it in the plight of your neighbor, in the gray and uncertain space between “us” and “them.” Earlier in this chapter of John, Jesus declares, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” You see, Jesus is pro-life – and that abundant life is found not in certainties, but in this space between. It is found in whatever brings love and life and connection and relationship to the sheep – the unwanted babies, the very wanted but unviable babies, the scared or devastated mothers-to-be, the women not in a place physically, mentally, or financially to bear or raise a child, the fathers who may or may not be in the picture, the couples trying in vain to conceive or adopt – all of the sheep. Jesus loves them all. Even you. Even me. And Jesus wants abundant life for them all. Will we live and love in a way that embraces that?

Let us pray… God of life, good shepherd of the sheep, we so desperately want certainty, to hear your voice, and to do what is right. Draw us again into the gray area, the space in between, so that we would find there both relationship with you, and love for our neighbor. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: The disorienting road to Damascus (May 1, 2022)

 Most of the service HERE (the part with the sermon!).

Easter 3C

May 1, 2022

Acts 9:1-20

INTRODUCTION

Now in the third Sunday of Easter, today we encounter some call stories. And one of them should be of particular interest to us at St. Paul’s, because it is the call of St. Paul himself! Except here he is still called Saul (which is his Hebrew name). As you may know, Saul was not such a nice guy. In fact, he was actively trying to stop the followers of The Way (early Christians), “breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord,” as Acts will tell us. Today’s story shows us the dramatic way in which Saul encounters Jesus on the road to Damascus, which led to him becoming a missionary, planting churches all over Asia and Europe, and writing much of the New Testament. Quite a turn!

In John, we will hear of Jesus’ fourth post-resurrection appearance. The disciples, not knowing what else do to, go back to what they have always known: fishing. But remember, God isn’t about doing the same ol’ thing, but rather, doing a new thing! So, Jesus meets them on the shore, and calls them into the mission to “tend and feed his sheep.” A significant detail in this story is the three questions Jesus will ask Peter around a charcoal fire – last time we heard about a charcoal fire, it was when Peter denied Jesus three times. Now, Jesus will ask Peter three times if he loves him, and this time Peter gets the answer right. But, he will come to find out, loving Jesus is not a passive activity, but an active one that serves the world. 

These calls exist still for us today – especially for a congregation who calls itself “St. Paul’s Lutheran Church”! So, hear today’s call stories, as well as the other readings, as calls issued also to you, and to our congregation. How would you answer Jesus’ questions? Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

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

Have you ever had a Road to Damascus experience? A time when you were disoriented, knocked off course, and set in a direction you didn’t plan and could not have anticipated? A time when you relied on others to help get you there? A time when “something like scales fell from your eyes” and suddenly something was revealed and made sense to you in a way it hadn’t before? 

Life is full of moments like these, right? Big or small, what would life be if we always kept our heads down and never changed course? Pretty dull, for one thing! If there is one thing we know about life, it is that it cannot be predicted with certainty, and so when those hinge experiences come our way, we are wise not only to notice them, but also to see God active in them!

I have wondered if we are in such a “road to Damascus” moment at St. Paul’s right now. Actually, churches and organizations all over the world are, as we reckon with what the post-pandemic world means for our way of life, our values, our traditions, our mission. Some things that have changed will not go back to how they were. Some people whom we were used to seeing each Sunday may never come back to the sanctuary, or maybe have cut ties with the church altogether… even as new people have come our way. As a result, our modes of operation and expectations have had to change, as people’s priorities and comfort levels have changed. Add to that the immense change St. Paul’s has dealt with in the past six years even apart from the pandemic – in six years, St. Paul’s has lost a longtime pastor, had two and a half tough years of transition time, and gotten a new (and very different) pastor. In fact, we’ve had a complete staff turnover! Many members have left, and many have joined. All this in just six years! In some ways, we’re a different place than we were 6 years ago!

The world has changed, and our congregation’s make-up has changed, and the needs around us have changed. So we cannot keep trotting along on our way to Damascus, expecting the journey and the destination to be just as it always has been. While in Saul’s story, the moment of change was quite immediate, for us that flashing light from heaven has been growing brighter over the years, finally knocking us down and saying, “St. Paul, St. Paul… it’s time for a change!” And that is disorienting. Like Saul, it can be difficult to see which way to go next. 

I recently spoke with someone who moved to this area last year, who was telling me about the beloved congregation she left behind. I asked what she loved about it. “We knew who we were,” she said, “and what we stood for.” What a beautiful thing for a church! And it made me wonder: would our members say the same? Are we so certain of who we are, not 5 years ago but now, that we could all say, specifically, who we are, what we stand for, and what God might be aiming to do through us?

Well, this is a question we have been pondering as a council and as a congregation for the past year, as we’ve embarked on a process of writing our story, determining what drives our congregation’s culture, and assessing our particular assets. Some things we have discovered about ourselves include:

• We are generous with our resources, and eager to give from the bounty God has provided us, both as individuals and as a congregation.

• We value worship and music, and are willing to invest in it for the sake of giving people a meaningful connection with God each week.

• We value and appreciate our youth and children, finding joy in the pitter-patter of little feet, and desiring to lift up the gifts of our youth. We want children to feel that this place is their place, that this is a safe space for them.

• We crave authentic connection, with each other and beyond. We want a place to be accepted as we are, a place to belong, and we want for this place to be one of welcome and acceptance for those who come through our doors or join us online.

What do you think? Does that sound like us?

In some ways, it does. In other ways, it describes who we want to be, the best version of ourselves. But if we’re honest we sometimes struggle to fully live it out in a world and context that has changed so much in recent years. We have been traveling along the road to Damascus, but then been faced by flashing light after flashing light, and even being knocked to the ground at times (I’m looking at you, transition period of 2017-18, and at you, March 2020!). And though I don’t hear Jesus’ voice calling out to us asking why we are persecuting him (we’re not!), I do hear Jesus’ voice calling out to us, “Get up, and go into the city.” Keep heading toward your destination, that best version of yourself. But don’t go in the same old manner that you were. Do it with a greater intention, and with awareness of who is there to guide you. Be prepared that change might not happen right away (remember, Saul sat in darkness for three days). Know that God might use someone surprising to speak a word of grace, like Ananias did for Saul. And, be ready for a transformation to occur; be ready for some scales to fall from your eyes, as we step anew into God’s mission for us.

That transformation is what God is all about. God is doing a new thing, not the same ol’ thing! Disorienting and fearful as it can be, God uses the Road to Damascus to call us and prepare us for what is next. 

Our council has been hard at work trying to discern what that transformation might look like, how it might come about. At our retreat last month, the council came up with five Mission Milestones, goals that will help us to live into the best version of ourselves. You have a copy of them in your bulletin and they are posted on the bulletin board outside the sanctuary. They are:

1) Implement a program to grow our children’s faith, service and values, to equip them for a life of faith. 

We want our youth to see this as their home, a place where they are safe to be themselves and ask questions. We want to equip families to raise their kids in faith. We want the youth to know multiple adults in the congregation, and for the adults to know the youth. 

2) Build deeper and more meaningful relationships within the congregation. 

In the face of a changing congregation, we want to devote energy toward building friendship, and creating space for genuine connection, not just surface interactions. We want older and newer members both to feel a sense of belonging in this place.

3) Gain an understanding of the particular needs in our surrounding community to establish a more focused social ministry plan.

St. Paul’s has traditionally had its hands in numerous ministries. But the needs of the community, and the passions of our members, have changed. We hope to reach out to community leaders, and do some other education, to discover where the needs of the community, and our particular passions, intersect. And then, put our energy and focus there!

4) Increase awareness of the ministry of St. Paul’s. 

Communication has changed! We want to harness everything at our disposal, including social media and real, face-to-face time in the community. How can we get the word out?

5) Understand the spiritual needs in our congregation, and develop a plan to meet them.

One thing we noticed in our conversations was that while people are committed to their faith, they aren’t always sure how to grow it. And, while I have a platform to talk about faith, there aren’t so many opportunities for you to talk about faith! What are your spiritual needs? What are your neighbor’s? We want to find out, so we can most effectively meet those needs.

Are they lofty goals? Perhaps. But then, it was pretty lofty of God to hand-select Saul, persecutor of Christians, to be “the instrument to bring God’s name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel.” And yet look, St. Paul became one of the most important missionaries of the Apostolic Age, planter of numerous churches and writer of most of the New Testament after the Gospels. When God does a new thing, God does not mess around! 

I hope that you will take these mission milestones to heart, to own them, and engage with them, and help St. Paul’s to live into this best version of who we are. Perhaps you, too, will feel something like scales fall from your eyes, as you come to know Jesus in a deeper way through our ministry here. I included some space for notes in your bulletin insert; I invite you to offer your thoughts, ideas and suggestions and give them to me to share with the council as we move forward with this. And I’ll be hanging around coffee hour to talk about it if you like. 

I believe that God uses those disorienting, scary times in life to set us upon God’s desired course, and that God is doing that even now. I am glad to be continuing down the road to Damascus with you, ready to see the new thing God is doing in us and through us.

Let us pray… Surprising God, sometimes we get knocked down and disoriented. Help us to find that even in these moments, you are there, guiding us down the path and to the people you have in mind for us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Sent out to seek peace (April 24, 2022)

 Full service HERE.

Easter 2C
April 24, 2022
John 20:19-31

INTRODUCTION:

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

This is the traditional greeting all throughout the Easter season, and so we will keep using it for each of the seven Sundays of Easter. In liturgical churches like ours, we understand Easter not to be one single Sunday, but rather, a week’s worth of Sundays! So we will celebrate the resurrection each of seven weeks – and yes, every Sunday after that, as well.

Our readings during this season also reflect this. During the Easter season we will hear from Acts rather than a Hebrew Bible (OT) reading. This is so that we can see and hear how the Early Church dealt with the news of the resurrection, how the news shaped their faith and their church, and so also how it shapes ours. 

For the second reading we will be hearing from Revelation – a book that has a reputation of being sort of bizarre and troubling in its depiction of the end of the world, but really, it is a deeply symbolic book that paints a picture of hope in the midst of despair, famine, conflict, and war. The Book of Revelation shows us how God is present, not absent, how Christ is the self-giving Lamb, and how people are called repeatedly into a circle of praise and worship. All hopeful images, and all appropriate themes for the Easter season!

And finally, during these six remaining Sundays of Easter, we will hear from John’s Gospel. This 2nd Sunday of Easter, we always hear the story of Jesus appearing to his fearful disciples in the locked upper room, and breathing his peace upon them, and about how Thomas, who was gone that night, wanted the same close encounter with the Risen Lord. It is a story about how we, too, crave Christ’s peace, and an encounter with our Lord. 

As you listen, listen as one who is still excited, mystified, and perhaps a little scared about this earth-shattering news of the resurrection. For this news is still all of these things, 2000 years later! Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

The month of April holds two important anniversaries for two modern giants of faith: Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination was April 4th, and April 9th marks the anniversary of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s death. Martin Luther King, of course, was a pastor and activist who fought for civil rights during the 60s and upset a lot of important and powerful people in doing so. Dietrich Bonhoeffer was also a pastor, an ethicist and a theologian during World War II, and was a part of a plot to assassinate Hitler. Though the attempt was unsuccessful, he was arrested for his part in this. Bonhoeffer’s work is often compared to that of Martin Luther King’s: both were compelled by their Christian faith to resist a racist regime, both found their gospel commitments led them to work outside of the conventional church, and both ultimately gave their lives for their respective resistance movements.

These two anniversaries may help us hear some of Jesus’ words in today’s Gospel reading a bit differently than we have before. First, three times in this reading, Jesus says, “Peace be with you.” I have usually read this as a word of comfort to the fearful disciples. But thinking this week about the work of King and Bonhoeffer, I’ve thought about those words differently, because while the end goal of peace might in fact be something resembling calm and reassurance, getting there can be anything but calm. Just ask King and Bonhoeffer, who were both martyred at age 39, because of their working for peace! Ask those trying to raise their voices and make people aware of their various plights, whether that is as a victim of a racist system, or a system that keeps people living in poverty, or someone speaking up about being harassed or abused or bullied, only to be told they are imagining it or lying. Ask someone in Ukraine, standing to defend their country from invasion. Ask anyone who spends every day working toward a more fair and just system how peaceful that work is (or isn’t!) while you’re doing it!

The irony of this exchange is that I suspect peace is exactly what the disciples were trying to find by locking themselves behind that door in the first place. We do that, don’t we – lock ourselves away from reality in an effort to get away from it all? If there is something out there that we don’t want to deal with, that we want to get away from, we just lock ourselves away behind the door where we can pretend that everything out there is not really happening. Maybe it is an actual locked room that we turn to, or maybe to some other coping mechanism like shopping or alcohol or our technology of choice. Maybe our locked room is adamant denial that a reality could exist that doesn’t fit with how we perceive the world to be, or how we wish the world was. However it looks, we try to find peace by locking ourselves away from a reality that does not bring us peace.

And so I wonder if, when Jesus offers those words, “Peace be with you,” he might be saying, “You’re not going to find true peace locked in here. True peace comes from faith and trust in me.” 

But I also wonder, if in those words might also be a charge, to seek out that peace themselves, to be agents peace for the world. Because look at the very next thing Jesus says: “As the Father sent me, so I send you.” If Jesus truly meant to offer calming words, that seems like a tough line to chase it with, no? “Hey guys, calm down, everything is going to be fine. Because… I’m sending you out into the world that just had me killed. Good luck!” Yikes! That makes me feel the opposite of peaceful! But you see, the mission is not to feel peace now, but rather, to seek peace in the broken world – not the peace that comes from avoidance of a problem, but the peace that comes from confronting the brokenness of the world with the good news of the abundant life given to us by a God who so loves the world and loves each of us who are in it. “As the Father sent me, so I send you,” he says, to speak a word of life into a hurting world, to bring Christ’s life to those in need. 

And that is not a charge that brings peace to the heart right away, because it is really hard. Martin Luther King lived every day in fear for his life, as he spoke the hope he found in the gospel to the oppressive reality of racism that plagued his community and the country he loved. 

But it is a charge that ultimately brings peace to the world God loves. And that is the role Jesus is giving to these disciples, now apostles, being sent out: to speak a word of life, and work for peace in this broken world.

Then, Jesus breathes into them and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them. If you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” The word translated here as “retain” does not mean to “withhold” forgiveness, but rather, like, “hold fast.” It’s like, holding to account. It is like Christ refusing to turn a blind eye to human suffering and wrong-doing, refusing to “just let it go,” and thus enable bad behavior to continue. “Holding fast” to sin is Dietrich Bonhoeffer saying, “What Hitler is doing is wrong, and it needs to stop.” It is Martin Luther King proclaiming that God did not intend that human beings should be anything but free, that indeed all men and woman are created equal and must be treated as such. I imagine it as taking sin and sinful actions by the collar, looking it in the eye, and saying, “Listen, this is not okay, and it cannot continue!”

In other words, “retaining” or “holding fast” to sin is not refusing to forgive it. It is refusing to tolerate sin that would keep the world from living in the peace Christ died to bring to this world. And so, as a follow-up to, “Peace be with you,” Jesus charges the disciples to hold to account and confront wrong-doing whenever they see it, to keep sin and abuse from having their way. 

That’s a tall order, too, a very difficult call for Jesus to extend to his followers. No wonder they were back in that same room the next week, with the doors still shut! In fact, I think many of Christ’s followers today are still in that same room with the door shut. Because being a disciple is hard, and it is even harder being an apostle, who goes out into the world and finds the places most in need of healing and speaks to those places a word of peace and life. 

Of course, Jesus knows that. That’s why he also offers to his apostles that night – and to all believers since then – the gift of the Holy Spirit. Back before he died, he called this Spirit an “Advocate,” someone to go along with them and work with them and for them, helping them to do God’s work in the world. It’s that same Spirit that we celebrate coming on Pentecost at the end of the Easter season. It’s that same Spirit that we pray to come upon every child of God who is baptized (in fact, included in the baptismal promises are these words: “to work for justice and peace”). It’s that same Spirit that we pray to come into the bread and wine before we take communion. We are continually infused with this Spirit of peace, love and life, the Spirit of wisdom and understanding, counsel and might, knowledge and joy. 

We are not alone in this call, friends. God has given us all that we need to make those words, “Peace be with you,” truly come to be in this world. And even when we do lock ourselves away from the realities of the world that so desperately need a word of hope and life, Jesus comes to us – repeatedly! – to once again give us the strength to pursue his work. The question is, will we open the door, like Martin Luther King, Jr. and Dietrich Bonhoeffer and so many others, and go do it?

Let us pray… Risen Christ, you come into our locked rooms when we are scared and would rather avoid the pain of the world, and you breathe your Holy Spirit into us. Empower us by this Spirit, that we might bring your words, “Peace be with you,” into the parts of God’s beloved world that need to hear it the most. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Easter Sermon: God is giving us a new story (April 17, 2022)

 Full service can be viewed HERE.

Easter morning, by Grace Rehbaum, age 6

Easter Sunday (2022)
April 17, 2022
Luke 24:1-12

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

Grace to you and peace from our risen Lord and Savior Jesus Christ!

Like many of you, I’m sure, I have been working on paring down the stuff in my house. My latest effort has been clothing. I’m realizing just how few clothing items I have that I really like or wear or need, so I have been purging. 

But there is one pair of jeans that I’m just really struggling to part with. I’ve had them for years, and they are so comfy. But, I have loved them so well that they are threadbare, and in particular there is a hole in one of the knees. And, if I’m honest, they don’t really fit all that well. They do right after the wash – they get their shape back and I put them on and feel like, “Yeah! I love these jeans!” but then by a few hours into the day they have begun to stretch out and sag once again. Yet I cannot get rid of them. Even though I am able to fool myself between washes, convincing myself, “These jeans are fine, I’m sure I’m just misremembering!” when I put them on, I am once again discouraged when my toe catches in the hole and rips the hole bigger, and by 11 o’clock I’m having to add a belt to keep the pants from sliding down any further. But still: I will not get rid of the jeans! They are just so comfortable!

I thought of these jeans this week as I read once again Luke’s telling of the resurrection story. Each time I read it, I am caught by the angel’s question to the women, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” I feel convicted by this question! I feel convicted because I know that I do exactly the same thing, always clinging to what is old and familiar – whether an old pair of jeans or an old pattern that has proven repeatedly not to bring about the results I want – hoping that this time I might find there the life that I crave. I want life – don’t you?? Don’t we all want to live in such a way that brings about joy and love and a sense of lightness to us and to those around us? A way that leaves us at the end of the day feeling satisfied, rather than searching for something, we’re not sure quite what, that seems to be missing? We want life, we want new life, and yet we are forever searching for it among the things that were – the old, comfy pair of jeans – instead of recognizing that some things need to die (or perhaps already have) and we will not find there the life that we seek.

As children’s author Mo Willems articulates in the book, Goldilocks and the Three Dinosaurs, “If you ever find yourself in the wrong story, leave.” In other words, if the story you are living is not bringing about life, then leave that story and find a new one. Maybe that story is the one in which your jeans fit perfectly and have no holes, or the one in which holding that grudge is actually doing some good, or the story in which you tell yourself you are anything other than deeply beloved by God. Or even that broken story in which endings do not bring about beginnings. Whatever the story is that you are living, if it is not bringing you life, then leave that story! Maybe you can’t leave the circumstances – but you can leave the story you are telling yourself about the circumstances.

But it is so much easier said than done! The women showed up that morning with the very reasonable expectation that the man they had seen die would still be dead. They believed that death was the end, that evil had won, that their faith had been in vain. Why should they place their hope in anything otherwise? This had always been their experience. It was their comfy pair of jeans, which didn’t fit quite right, and were running ragged, but at least they were close at hand. An old story is like that – it may not be offering you life, but it is comfortable and predictable. 

But upon arrival, the women are faced with a perplexing new story, which begins with a question – “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” Why have you once again returned to your old, broken story, the torn, saggy jeans, to the belief that death is the end? Why do you cling to that which does not bring life? “He is not dead,” says the angel, “but is risen!” Everything you thought you knew, that you thought was keeping you safe, has changed! He is risen – so just imagine what new life is possible!

I think the most miraculous part of this story (aside from, you know, the resurrection part) is that the women believed the angel! I have sat in plenty of counseling sessions where my counselor points out those old, broken stories I’m trying to live, and directs my attention to the possibility of a new, more life-giving story, and I can feel my face scrunch up with resistance. I have even been known to exclaim, “I don’t wanna. Isn’t there any way to have that outcome without having to make this change?” I’d rather keep telling myself that there isn’t a gaping hole in the leg of my favorite jeans, and I can keep on living in the way I have grown accustomed, and expect that eventually, there will be a different outcome. Eh? But the women here actually accept that their whole world view has just shifted, and that because of that shift, new life is possible!

Of course we can’t say the same for the men they run to tell. The disciples are quick to dismiss the good news as an “idle tale,” which is just a nice way of saying they think it is a load of… ahem, garbage. And this, this I get. Wouldn’t we rather dismiss anything that challenges us to shed our old ways of thinking and acting? Here they call it an “idle tale,” but the words I hear from people and from whole congregations or organizations are more likely, “That’s too hard… that’ll never work… we don’t have the resources… that’s not how we’ve done it before…” 

Only Peter, God bless him, actually gets over his initial inclination to dismiss the possibility, and goes to check it out himself. And, Luke tells us, he is amazed. I wonder what it was exactly that amazed him? Was it that the women were, in fact, telling the truth? Was it that something Jesus had said multiple times would happen, did actually happen, and that now, everything was different? Was it that he found he could, finally, believe that God could do and was doing a new thing, even in his life, even after his mistakes?

Luke doesn’t tell us, and you know, I guess that is okay. Because what amazed him isn’t the point so much as the fact that he was amazed. That’s where Luke leaves it, and I’m perfectly happy to leave it there, too, for this morning. There will be time to follow in the women’s footsteps, to run and tell the good news. But there is also time simply to be amazed. Because it is amazing that God would go to such length to show us that nothing, not even death itself, is more powerful than God’s power and love. It is amazing that God can take our old stories, pull them down into the grave, and raise up something new in our lives. It is amazing that God promises continually not to do the same old thing, but to do a new thing – and, God makes good on that promise, for us as individuals and for the Church. It is amazing that God, in God’s infinitely poor judgment, loves even me, and each of you. 

And it is because of that love that we no longer have to seek the living among the dead. We can be bold enough not to dismiss a new thing, but rather, to look for Jesus in the possibilities with which we are presented. And when we fail (which we sometimes will!), we can trust that no failure, no death, no ending, is more powerful than God’s ability to bring new life out of it.

Alleluia! Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia! In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Remember (Maundy Thursday)

 Full service HERE.

Maundy Thursday
April 14, 2022
1 Corinthians 11
Exodus 12:1-14

I love to read to my kids, and they love being read to. And they know, and I know, that my favorite thing to read to them is Bible stories. We certainly have our favorites: they like all the Jesus stories, and Queen Esther is always a big hit. But another that we frequently return to is the story of the Passover. Not just the Passover, but the whole story surrounding it – the 10 plagues, and Moses repeatedly asking Pharaoh to “let my people go!” (Sometimes we shout Pharaoh’s predictable and repeated, “No!” or pretend we are the ones being attacked by flies or gnats, which is always a good bedtime activity.) And we love the dramatic escape through the Red Sea. 

But at the center of this story, of course, is the story of the Passover: the final plague, and the one that finally convinced Pharaoh (before he, again, changed his mind), in which the first born of every Egyptian family was struck down by the angel of death. But the Israelite families were told to smear lamb’s blood over their doors, so that the angel of death would know they were there and “pass over” those houses, thus saving them from death. This is the part of the story that we heard read a moment ago. God also includes instructions about what to wear, telling them, “Be ready for a quick exit! This is the moment for escape from slavery in Egypt!” It’s definitely a dramatic story! 

The reason we hear it tonight, on this night on which we remember Jesus’ sharing his last supper with his disciples, is that according to Matthew, Mark and Luke, the last supper was a Passover meal. Did you notice that last line of our reading? God says that “this day shall be a day of remembrance for you,” a festival observed as a “perpetual ordinance.” And so, for thousands of years, the Jewish people have done just that, sharing in a meal like the one described here, one that is full of symbolism and storytelling. It is a meal about remembering, and re-membering – that is, it is not just about recalling something, but also, in that recollection, bringing together once again the community from across the ages, the generations of God’s people who have been and continue to be saved and restored by God. It re-members them, makes them members again, as they tell again the story about how God saved them – from the angel of death, and from the yolk of slavery. God is a God who saves us. 

It is at this Passover event, this remembering of God’s salvific actions, that Jesus shares his last meal with his disciples, but this time with a twist. This time it is not a lamb whose life is given for their salvation, but Jesus’ own life. It is his body that becomes their feast. It is not a lamb’s blood that saves them from death, but Jesus’ own blood. And as he breaks the bread and shares the wine, calling them his own body and blood, he says those familiar words, “Do this in remembrance of me.”

I guess I have usually interpreted that instruction, “in remembrance of me,” as more of a recalling. Like, “Remember me and my love for you, whenever you take communion.” But this year I’m seeing it as something different. Certainly, putting it alongside the Passover story brings out the sense that this meal we share as Christians is a meal about freedom from our captivity to sin and about the life we have because of Christ, our “paschal lamb.” But this year I’m thinking especially about that word, “remember,” as a word about restoring a community. For the past two Maundy Thursdays, we have not shared in holy communion, and that has felt very strange. We haven’t shared in a lot of our usual community activities – in person worship, singing together, the various special meals that are so much a part of our life together as a congregation. And though we have done our best to maintain what we could, and we are trying now, safely, to resume some things… I know that the sense of community has suffered as a result of our time apart. All of our various communities have! For our literal survival as individuals, we have had to figure out how to go it alone. We home-schooled and worked from home, and watched church from the safety of our living rooms, we started ordering groceries with Insta-cart, and suspended our usual annual gatherings. It was the right thing to do for the times. 

But tonight, and the stories we hear tonight, are a poignant reminder of what we have lost, and of the importance of re-membering. We are not captive like the Israelites in Egypt, nor subject to an oppressive Roman regime like the disciples, but we are captive to our own things, our own sin and fear. We are not running for our lives later tonight like the Israelites, nor betraying Jesus for some silver like Judas, but we are feeling the effects of our broken communities, and the need for restoration between people and between peoples. We all, across time, have felt the need for re-membering. We all have need for restored community.

And that is the gift we receive tonight. The Passover story re-members a history of God’s saving actions, encouraging people to care for each other in that highly intense time. Corinthians reminds us that when we partake of this holy sacrament, we re-member not only Christ, but also our place together in Christ’s family – despite whatever divisions may exist in that family. And the Gospel reading, the beautiful story of Jesus washing his disciples’ feet, helps us remember that undergirding all of the restoration of community that we need and crave is God’s abiding love for us, and his command to us to love one another in this same way.  

As we come forward tonight, we will, as we always do, come with hands open and outstretched. It is a gesture that says, “Lord, I’m ready to receive – receive grace, forgiveness, and love.” And as we receive Christ’s own body and blood, we do this in re-membrance of him. We are re-membered, restored, to Christ’s community – not in the same way we were before, necessarily, but in a new way. For we know that God is always doing a new thing, not the same ol’ thing. And so even as we do recall the ways that God has loved us and saved us in the past, we are also put back together in a way that is ready to receive whatever new thing God has in mind for us. We do this in remembrance of that promise, in remembrance of Christ. 

As we continue through these Three Days, we will watch as Christ’s own body is broken – not just the bread tonight, but his physical body tomorrow. And we will remember our own brokenness, our own need for restoration. And then, as we watch God’s new thing unfold, we will marvel as God re-members us, putting us back together in a way that brings life to us and our communities. May we remember, and never forget, and continually tell the story, of our place in God’s salvation plan for us, and for the world. 

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

Sermon: The Smell of Love (April 3, 2021)

View full service HERE. Sermon begins at 34:30.

Lent 5C
April 3, 2022
John 12:1-8

INTRODUCTION

Next week is the start of Holy Week, and our Gospel readings also bring us right up against that last week of Jesus’ life. Context is everything for today’s reading, which jumps back into John’s Gospel after several weeks in Luke. Right before today’s story, Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. This event was so shocking that, according to John, it was the impetus for wanting to kill both Jesus AND Lazarus. Lazarus is the brother of Mary and Martha, in whose house we now find ourselves. Just after this story, just as in our church year, John takes us to Palm Sunday, and Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem, and not long after that will be Maundy Thursday, when Jesus will be the one kneeling at the disciples’ feet, washing them and wiping them with the towel around his waist. Mary’s actions today foreshadow this event – and just as Jesus’ act of footwashing is an act of love for neighbor, Mary’s is an act of love for Jesus. Context is everything for this story!

In the other readings, we will hear about God providing water in a dry land, and in both Isaiah and the Psalm, this is likely referring to the way God restored the exiles. In both the Hebrew Bible and in Philippians, we’ll hear again about how God is doing a new thing – a theme we hear often and most profoundly, of course, on Easter in just a couple weeks! (Spoiler alert!) As you listen, notice the ways God is doing a new thing in your life, giving water where there was dryness, freedom where there was captivity, and love where there was skepticism. Let’s listen.

[READ]

At the end of a Lenten series where we have explored how God is here with us in whatever places we find ourselves, today, on this last Sunday before Holy Week, we’re going to immerse ourselves in the place where God is. That is, we’re going to go and observe this strange encounter between Mary, the sister of Lazarus, and Jesus.

…

It was a dinner “party,” but I’ll be honest, it was tense. Perhaps on the surface, to an outside observer, is seemed ordinary enough – Martha bustling away in the kitchen, Jesus reclining, idle chatter all around, mostly discussing the upcoming Passover, now just six days away… But we all knew just how much there was going on behind the scenes. For example, there across the table from Jesus was Lazarus. Not too long ago? Lazarus died. I mean, the guy was dead, for four days. There was weeping and mourning and the guy stank of death. And Jesus… brought him back to life. Let me say that again: Jesus brought a dead man back to life. It was as dramatic as it sounds, and though you may think everyone was happy and excited about such a thing, that was not the case. Even those of us who follow Jesus were fairly terrified about this. We didn’t know what to make of it. And that’s to say nothing of Lazarus – as you can imagine, the guy was never the same. He barely spoke now, and his face looked constantly confused, as if he wasn’t exactly sure where he was, or why, always looking off at something in the distance that no one else could see. Still, his sisters were delighted to have him back, and that was why we were all gathered in their house: they felt that, after Jesus brought their brother back, they’d like at least to offer him a meal! 

Well, that was part of it, at least. But there was another, unspoken part. You see, both Lazarus and Jesus were in grave danger. After Jesus raised Lazarus, there were rumors that Caiaphas, the high priest, had it out for them both. In fact, Caiaphas had prophesied that “one man should die for the people” and that that one man, was Jesus. And, they said that anyone who knew anything about Jesus’ whereabouts, should turn him in. You can imagine our shared anxiety level!

Now, Jesus is one of the gutsiest guys I know, but he’s no fool. Having heard these rumors, he knew he had to keep a low profile, staying in nearby Ephraim, away from Jerusalem. We all wondered whether he would go to Jerusalem to purify for the Passover like usual, or frankly if he’d go to Jerusalem at all, knowing how dangerous it was. In fact, even this dinner party in Bethany was pushing it – we were less than two miles from Jerusalem! 

So yeah, like I said, tensions were high. We had the formerly dead man (who still kind of stank from his time in the grave), and the death threats, and if I’m honest, the sinking fear that one of would crack, and be the one to give Caiaphas what he wanted: to arrest Jesus and kill him. I didn’t want to believe it, but I’m just saying, that fear was also in the mix.

Martha was busy in the kitchen. Dinner would be ready soon, and what a nice respite that would be. Our tummies growled – hiding from the authorities was not for the faint of heart, and we were, despite everything, looking forward to a warm meal. 

But then, things got weird. 

Mary had always seemed a bit… much. Martha – she was stable, reliable, diligent. But Mary was always… so deeply emotional. We could never be sure what was coming next with her. And this night was no exception. As we made small talk, suddenly, Mary stood up and let down her hair. This in itself was strange, because we Jews see a woman’s hair as quite alluring, and for her to do this in a house full of men she is not related to was, well, it was a bit shocking! But then, it got even stranger. With great determination, she retrieved a large, sealed container from a shelf, and broke open the seal. Immediately, the smell of perfume filled the house. Not just any perfume – this was good stuff, pure nard, not mixed with anything else. If I had to guess, a year’s wages might just about cover the cost of such a perfume! She walked back to where Jesus was reclining and knelt at his feet. We all gasped as she poured the perfume on his feet. 

Her face shone with love – it genuinely glowed! Jesus’ face, too, softened at her touch, as she used her long, dark hair to rub the ointment into his skin. 

I had the sense that we were being drawn into a place almost other-worldly, a place of warmth, a place that felt almost electric, even as it felt like the safest place I’d ever been. Strange as it was, the room felt like we were all being bathed in love.

The room was silent, though the smell alone was more than enough to compensate – it was so potent it filled not only our noses, but every other sense as well! We could practically see and hear and touch this smell, the smell of Mary’s love for Jesus! It was as if the scent of the perfume found its way into every crevice, every pore, every heart. 

At the other end of the table, I caught a glimpse of Lazarus. The faraway look on his face had disappeared. He was as fully present in this moment as I’d ever seen him. He looked now as if he had arrived at that place he was always looking toward. He was here. 

Finally, Judas’ voice broke the silence. “Why was this perfume not sold for 300 denarii and the money given to the poor?” The question hung there for a moment, dragging us back toward reality, as we continued to try to take in what was happening. Myself – I… I was torn. I consider myself to be quite a practical person, not one to waste. And in that sense, Judas was absolutely right. I certainly didn’t want to be the one to say it, and coming from Judas I admit it came out like a sneer (he always seemed to have an edge to him, like he had something to prove). And yet, I somehow knew that this act of Mary’s was too important to even be compared to practicality. It was so much deeper than that. And though I knew in my head that Judas was correct, that this was a complete and utter waste… my heart understood it differently. My heart knew that no act of love is a waste. While my head told me that moderation is good, my heart reminded me that Jesus has no thought toward scarcity or moderation – from the beginning of his ministry, he had been about excessive and even reckless abundance! Do you remember hearing about that wedding we went to? The one where he changed water into wine? He could have gotten his point across by changing one jug, or even one cup of water into wine, but no – he turned 6 jugs into wine! He could have gotten to Lazarus soon enough to heal him of his illness, but why heal a man when you can raise him from the dead? 

And now Mary seemed to really get it: why use a dab of perfume, when you can use the whole pound? Why love a little, when you can love with everything you have and everything you are? Why be moderate, careful, and reserved, when you can love extremely enough to fill every corner of a room, leaving everyone in the room with the lingering scent of love on their skin for days to come?

And that of course is exactly what happened. Not so long after that, as you know, Jesus was turned over to the authorities by the same one who had questioned that love, and he was crucified. And as he stood before Pilate, as he was nailed to the cross, and as he was laid in the grave, he still smelled of that abundant love. As he met a different Mary in the garden that Sunday morning, he still smelled, not of death, but of love. As he met us in the upper room, the essence and scent of love still surrounded him, bringing peace and joy to his terrified friends.

There is a place for practicality. I know that. But that day in the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus, we all caught a glimpse of God’s very kingdom: a place where joy and love are impossible to measure, where abundance overcomes moderation, where the greatest good is simply to love the Lord with all that you have and all that you are. That is life in Christ.

Let us pray… Abundant God, we try to be careful, reserved, cautious. But you call us to be reckless in our love, to offer it – to you and to our neighbor – with all that we have and all that we are. Make us brave enough and vulnerable enough to love in this way. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.