Sermon for Sixth Sunday of Easter, Year B: "Changed from Glory into Glory: Friends"

Sermon 5/13/12

John 15:9-17

Changed from Glory into Glory: Friends

When I was in high school, I particularly liked a song that was added to the movie version of the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical Evita, a song called “You Must Love Me,” added for the star of the movie, Madonna, as an additional solo ballad. The song has a double meaning. It features near the end of the movie, when Eva Peron, the first lady of Argentina, is dying of cancer. The song features a series of questions that suggest that Eva is amazed that her husband, President Juan Peron, is standing by her side even though her body is failing. “Why are you at my side? How can I be any use to you now?” she sings. The chorus repeats the mantra, “You must love me,” as words of discovery. “Oh, because you are doing this, staying with me, it means that you must love me.” It is a refrain of wonder, awe that she is so loved by her husband.

            But the song has a double meaning. Eva Peron had a strong desire to be loved by everyone, at least according to some accounts. She wanted the love of the poor, the middle-class, the wealthy, the political leaders, the military, the leaders of other governments, and certainly her husband. She wanted to be loved. And so “You must love me” is also her command. “You have to love me! I insist on it.” Many of her actions are variations on attempts to make sure that everyone adores her.

            Of course, we know, don’t we, that you can’t demand someone love you. Well, you can, but it isn’t very effective. Since we are talking about songs, another favorite of mine is a Bonnie Raitt standard: “I Can’t Make You Love Me.” It is the ultimate unrequited love song. “I can’t make you love me if you don’t. You can’t make your heart feel something it won’t.” If you have ever fallen in love with someone, but not had your feelings returned, you know that you can’t simply get someone to love you, at least not romantically, by sheer force of will, right?

            So, can you make someone love? Can someone demand that you love? Command it? Despite our wisdom gleaned from pop music, Jesus seems to think differently. “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. You did not choose me but I chose you. I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.” Well, Jesus says he commands us to love one another! And he says that if we are friends, we will do what he commands. Now, I don’t know how your friendships work, but I try to command my friends all the time, and for some reason, they get really cranky about it! But seriously, what are we to make of a commandment to love? The Bible is full of commandments, but Jesus has only a couple that he seems to spend any time on at all. He commands us to love God, and love one another.    

On the one hand, this might seem like an easy out. I think the Old Testament lists 613 commandments for us to follow. Jesus doesn’t ever say these aren’t important commandments, but he does say that we often miss the point of it all, the spirit of it all, which is love. So remembering to love God and neighbor rather than 613 other things seems like a good deal. But on the other hand, to be commanded to love, when we start to think about it, may not be as easy as it sounds. For example, when Jesus commands us to love, I think we sometimes play this mental game with ourselves. Well, I love everybody, but I don’t like everybody. I love you, I just don’t like you very much. That doesn’t sound like very powerful, deep love, does it? Jesus says that great love is love where a friend will give up life for a friend. Would you give up your life for someone you didn’t like? Someone about whom you would say, “Well, I love you, but I don’t like you?” Jesus is talking about something deep, and we tend to want to make his words more shallow, which strips them of all their power. Can you imagine Jesus saying, “I love you, but I don’t like you very much?”

Still, how do we love one another? Because even if “I love you, I just don’t like you” isn’t a very deep love, sometimes, it is just exactly how we feel, isn’t it? So what can we do? How can we follow Jesus' commands? I don’t have a pat answer for that, but I have some ideas. Jesus says he has made know to us everything he knows from God. To me, that means that in Jesus' teaching and example, we have all we need to love like Jesus loves, like Jesus commands. When I look at Jesus, I see first someone who was in relationship with people! That means he spent time with people – quality time, real time, in real conversation with all kinds of people. Jesus spent an enormous amount of time with people who were not like him, with people who did not like him, with people who wanted to kill him actually. Jesus isn’t asking us to love in the abstract, to love from afar. Jesus wants us to love one another, real love, real people. And to love one another, we need to be in relationships.

Jesus acted with compassion rather than judgment. I've talked with you about the word compassion before – one of my favorite Greek words – splanchizomai – literally stomach-in-knots with concern for someone. Remember last Sunday when we talked about the vine and branches, I mentioned how branches don’t prune other branches? You can’t really love someone if you are too busy judging them and thinking about the things they do wrong all the time. Jesus looked at people and certainly could see to their souls, sins and all – but his reaction was to be moved with compassion, not judgment, not judgment disguised as concern, but gut-wrenching compassion. Can you see from your neighbor's point of view? Walk in their shoes? Practice compassion, and open a place for love in your heart.

Jesus commands us to love, and it is both a lifelong challenge, and the very thing we were created for. Rev. Edward Markquart, a pastor whose sermons I love, writes this, “It’s about love, love, love. From the moment you are born until the moment you die; and every second and every minute and every hour and every day and every month and every year and every decade, the purpose of life is God giving you and me the time to learn how to love, as God loves. The purpose of time, of every moment and every day and every year is that God is teaching us what it means to be truly loving people. That’s what it is all about. That is what it has always been about. God commands us to love one another in these ways. It is like God commanding fish to swim. It is like commanding birds to fly. It is like God commanding daffodils to be beautiful. When God commands us to love as God loves, God is simply commanding us to be the kind of people that we were created to be in the first place. We were created in the image of God; we are like God; and God is love.” (1)

Finally, remember that Jesus, who calls us friends, commands us to love not to drive us crazy, or give us an impossible standard to live up to, but to give us exactly what we seek. He says, “I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.” Complete joy. Have you ever experienced such a thing as complete joy? Think over your life experiences. Think about the times in your life when you have felt the most joy – the most sheer, unblemished, undiluted joy. I’m going to guess that these experiences of joy probably have something to do with experiences of love as well, that our experiences of joy are never just about us, but always have something to do with the relationships in our lives. Jesus speaks to us of commandments, not to burden us, but to free us, because he wants us to have this joy not just in fleeting moments, but in complete, as a regular part of our living. “I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.” So today, let’s be followers of the rules. And of all the rules we’re bound by, of all you can choose to follow, why not choose obedience to the one commandment that promises everything in exchange for your obedience. Let’s love, and be loved, and love and be loved. Amen.

Sermon for Fifth Sunday of Easter, Year B: Changed from Glory into Glory - Branches

Sermon 5/6/12

(2 Corinthians 3), John 15:1-8, 1 John

Changed from Glory into Glory: Branches

For the next several weeks, we will be focusing on the theme Changed from Glory into Glory. I planned to explain our theme for the month in our May newsletter, but as most of you know, I have been away at General Conference in Tampa for the last two weeks. I just didn’t make it with a newsletter article. I was pretty impressed with myself for even sending Bill my sermon titles for the month! So, I want to spend a little time this morning explaining this theme: changed from glory into glory. It is based on a passage from 2 Corinthians 3. In it, Paul is talking about a text from Exodus that we just studied in our Bible 101 class. The Israelites have been freed from Egypt, but are wandering in the wilderness. Moses keeps visiting with God to receive commandments for living as this new community in a new place. But after so much time one on one with God, his face is radiant, and the holiness of it scares the people, so Moses wears a veil, so that the people don’t have to look at his radiant face.

Paul, speaking to the Corinthians, new followers of Jesus, says that the glory Moses experience had to be veiled – which put a distance between the people and God. But in this new covenant, with life in Christ, with God-made-flesh in Jesus, the veil is lifted, the distance we put between us and God is closed, and instead of seeing a dim glory, covered, we see the radiant glory of a perfect mirror reflection. We are transformed from one glory, a veiled glory though, into another glory, unveiled. Changed from glory into glory. It isn’t that the relationship the people had with God with Moses as mediator was meaningless or valueless. But it was laced with fear of God, with fear of going deeper and experiencing God in more direct ways. When we follow Jesus, the risks are greater, the radiance may be blinding, but there is no veil of separation. Paul calls us to be changed from glory into glory.

Our time together as pastor and congregation is going by faster than I can keep up with. We have just a handful of weeks together really. Of course, it has been on my mind what I can say to you, what I want to and must say to you in this time. In a couple of weeks Rev. Lauren Swanson, pastor at Erwin First United Methodist and Church Consultant, will meet with us after worship to help prepare us for this time of transition, to talk with us about our church family, our relationships, how we live and work together, how we handle conflicts, and how First United can prepare to move forward with mission and vision at the core of all we do. And I have been thinking that we are called to move from glory to glory. Where we are is not bad, but sometimes I think we let our fears get in the way of the deeper relationship God is calling us to. We hover on the brink, wondering if we can follow where Jesus leads. He calls us from glory to glory, and I hope, in these next weeks, to help us be ready to go with him, even if our paths will be somewhat different.

Our scripture lessons today from the gospel of John and the epistle 1 John go hand in hand with each other, and touch on how we relate to one another, and the fear that sometimes gets in our way. In the gospel, Jesus declares, “I am the true vine . . . I am the vine, and you are the branches.” God is the vinegrower. Jesus talks about how the branches – us – can’t have life if they are separated from the vine – himself. And as branches, we’re meant to be the bearers of much fruit – fruit that we’re able to grow because we abide in him as he abides in us. We literally take our life from the vine, and through the vine, we can become fruit-bearing disciples. We are all branches – we can’t have life apart from the vine, and we can’t have life in Christ apart from each other either, because we are connected through the vine.

From the epistle lesson, John picks up the theme of abiding in one another, God and God’s children. John focuses his passage on God’s nature – God is love. We love because God is love and we’re born of this loving God. If we don’t love, we don’t know God. The best love we can know is in God’s loving us, and because we know this love, we ought to love one another. When we do this, even though we can’t see God, John says, we get something better – God lives in us, and God’s love dwells within us. So God is love, John says, in case we missed it, and abiding in love we abide in God because God is – that’s right – love. Not just any love – perfect love – love that is so perfect that there is no fear in this love. And we love because God loves us first. And we can’t love God if we don’t really love our brothers and sisters, John says logically, because we can’t even see God, and we can see our brothers and sisters. How could we more easily love that which we can’t even see? So, if we claim to love God, we know how to show it: in loving others.

You’ll notice that in both passages today, the word “abide” appears repeatedly – six times in the epistle, eight in the gospel. The word ‘abide’ here means literally, as I have shared with you in the past: “to stay or to remain at home.” So when Jesus and John speak of “abiding,” we can think of them as speaking about ‘remaining at home.’ Another repeated word in our epistle lesson is this weighty word “perfect.” As I have shared with some of you, every person ordained an elder in The United Methodist Church is asked the so-called historic questions that have been passed down since John Wesley’s days: “Are you going on to perfection?” and “Do you expect to be made perfect in love in this life?” The expected answer to both questions is “yes.” Wesley was known and ridiculed in his day for his belief in the doctrine of Christian Perfection. His peers thought what many of us would think– how can we be perfect, or even bother trying to be perfect? But Wesley insisted they didn’t understand true, scriptural perfection. Answering a hypothetical question about perfection, Wesley wrote, “But whom then do you mean by 'one that is perfect?' We mean one in whom is 'the mind which was in Christ,' and who so 'walketh as Christ also walked;' [one] 'that hath clean hands and a pure heart' . . . To declare this a little more particularly: . . . one who 'walketh in the light as [God] is in the light.”

Wesley’s words about walking in the light as God is in the light are right in tune with our text from 1 John. For Wesley, for John, being made perfect is a process we go through as we learn to let God’s love – God’s very essence – completely take over our lives, so that as God is love, we too are love, made bold by God’s love, casting out fear and being filled with God’s perfect love. The more we love, the more we become like Jesus, the more we are filled with God, and the more we are, in the best sense of the words, being made perfect. “Are you going on to perfection?” and “Do you expect to be made perfect in love in this life?” With God’s help, yes.

If we turn back now to our gospel lesson from John, we can read these images of the vine and branches and pruning and good fruit in light of this understanding of perfection. Jesus tells us that we are the branches, and that the branches can’t bear fruit unless they abide in the vine, Jesus himself, and in turn, the vine abides in the branches, and unless the branches are pruned by God, who is the vinegrower. When I hear Jesus talking about being pruned to bear good fruit, abiding in him as he abides in us, I see it as another way of saying that we’re being perfected in love, as John says, as Wesley says. Pruning, as you might know if you are familiar with gardening or landscaping, is a way of removing certain branches and leaves from a plant to make the plant stronger and healthier overall. I have been growing seedlings, some of which my brother Todd did not actually kill during my two-week trip to Tampa in my absence. Before I left, I had to thin the plants, pull some weaker plants up so that the stronger plants had room to grow. Pruning is similar. Sometimes branches that are removed from a plant are diseased or weak, but other times, branches that seem healthy enough have to be removed because the pruning will make for a better, more fruitful plant or tree over the long run. Pruning, then, is a way of perfecting a plant, you might say.

What does that mean for us? How do we get pruned? For me, the most important thing for us to remember here is to remind ourselves who does the pruning, who does the perfecting, in our texts. We’re made perfect by God’s abiding love. We’re pruned by God the vinegrower. We are the branches, and branches don’t prune themselves, or prune other branches. God does that. So often, we look at our neighbors, and feel like we know what branches we’d cut in their gardens, so to speak. We know what decisions they should make, and are ready to call them out for the bad fruit we see. But we’re not the vinegrower, not the gardener of their souls. And what’s more, we’re not meant to do the pruning in our own lives either! And that’s harder control for us to give up. As branches, with God living right within us, abiding in us, we’re meant to be open enough to God’s perfecting love that we can trust God with tending to our lives, pruning where things need to change and be redirected, guiding us on a path which will help us bear good fruit, even if we can’t see the way yet.

John says that we have hope of being made perfect, hope of living a life free of fear. We can be perfect! – if we’re willing to be perfected, pruned. I’ve found that the best things seem to come my way when rather than doing the planning, the leading, the scheduling, instead, I do the following – that’s discipleship after all – when rather than filling my life up with my own plans, I try to remain open enough to be filled up with God instead. If “abiding” means “being at home in,” I have to have enough room in my soul for God to find a place to dwell within me. If I’m already full of my own stuff, already unwilling to let any pruning happen, where will God make a home in my life?

How do we begin to get back into the right place – to let ourselves be branches instead of trying to all be the true vine, or the vinegrower? How do we move towards this perfection that casts out fear? That part is easy. John reminds us that God is love, and that to know God, you must know love. The more we love, the more we know God, who is love, and the more we love, the more we imitate Christ who is love. John leads us in the direction that Jesus was always leading us: Loving one another, those we do see around us, is the only way we can really love God, who we don’t see ‘face to face.’ The more we love, the more room we make in our lives for something other than our own wants and desires, the more we make room for God, the more we understand what being made perfect in love is all about.

So, I ask you the questions that I was asked at my ordination, because they’re really more questions about discipleship than questions about being a pastor: “Are you going on to perfection?” and “Do you expect to be made perfect in love in this life?” I hope your answer is yes. Amen.

Sermon for Second Sunday of Easter - Point of View: Thomas

Sermon 4/15/12

John 20:19-31

Point of View: Thomas

            My mother and I sometimes argue about which of us has the right approach. When it comes to life in the church, I tend to be an optimist. Despite forecasts to the contrary, I am usually sure that we are going to meet all our financial needs, that we will have a good turnout for something, that an event will be successful. But when it comes to everything else, I must admit that I am, well . . . my mother would call me a pessimist. My mother is an optimist in virtually all things and in all matters. For example, even though I am sure I have had some bad sermons, my mother, who reads mine every week, is quite sure that all my messages are excellent. You agree with her, don’t you? Don’t you? Also, my mom is always pretty sure she has enough money, regardless of her actual financial situation. It is a lovely attitude, to be sure, but sometimes it means she doesn’t ask me for help when I think she should. Ever the optimist. I, on the other hand, prefer to think of myself not as a pessimist, but as a realist. I am just realistic about how things are, and how things might be. My mother, though, says that pessimism is just being disappointed twice. You are disappointed before something even happens, and then disappointed again when it turns out you were right. Optimism, she says, means at least you are happy to start out with! What are you? Optimist? Pessimist? Realist?

            Today we look at our last Point of View study, Thomas. Of course, he is known mostly as doubting Thomas, but I think Thomas probably thought of himself more as Thomas the realist. Thomas, also called the Twin, was one of the twelve. Matthew, Mark, and Luke do not mention Thomas outside the list of the twelve disciples. But John gives us more to go on. First, we see him when Jesus' friend Lazarus dies, and Jesus and the twelve journey to his home and Jesus raises Lazarus. Jesus says that he is glad he was not with Lazarus, so that what is about to unfold will cause the disciples to believe. And it is Thomas who responds, saying, “Let us also go, so that we may die with him.” Thomas knows something special is unfolding, and tries to show his dedication, even if he doesn’t know quite what it all means. We next hear from Thomas when Jesus is speaking the words we most often hear at a funeral: “In my father's house there are many dwelling places.” Jesus says that the disciples know where Jesus is going, but Thomas responds, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Jesus responds that he is the way.

            Finally, we come to today's scene. Our text opens on the evening of Easter Sunday. At this point in John's account, only Mary Magdalene has seen the risen Christ. Peter and another disciple had seen the empty tomb, but left before seeing Jesus. Mary had told them that she’d seen Jesus, but we see today that her news apparently had little effect on them. The disciples are locked up in the house where they’re staying, afraid because of the events of Jesus’ crucifixion and death. They’re not rejoicing. They’re scared. But suddenly, Jesus appears, and says, “Peace be with you.” He shows them his wounds, confirming that he is the very Jesus they saw die. He talks to them about practicing forgiveness. He again blesses them with peace, and tells them they will be sent as he was sent. He breathes on them, and speaks of the Holy Spirit, and gives them authority.

            But Thomas isn’t there with them for some reason. The disciples share what they have seen – that they’ve seen Jesus. But Thomas, the realist, says that unless he sees for himself, he won’t believe. A week later, the disciples are again in the house together, this time with Thomas too. Jesus again appears, with words of peace. And this time, Thomas sees for himself. “My Lord and my God!” he exclaims. Jesus says, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

            We hear very little about Thomas after this, but church history holds that Thomas eventually travelled to India, and was the first to share the good news of Jesus there. For most, though, he is remembered as Doubting Thomas. But I think the gospel of John actually shows us someone who was trying very hard to be faithful, asked questions, and was looking for answers. A realist. I think Thomas would fit in pretty well with how most of us approach matters of faith in the 21^st century.

            As you know, we have been having a Bible 101 study that started back in January. After a hiatus for Lent, we are back on (we will meet on Tuesday this week – 6:30pm, Panera Bread, Marshalls Plaza, Erie Blvd.) One of the things we've talked about a couple of times is this: Why doesn’t God seem to talk to us today like God used to? In the Bible, there are all these stories that seem to suggest God speaks to people in clear and obvious ways, with very tangible signs. But these days, most of us can’t claim to have seen a sea parted in half, or a burning bush, or someone walking on water, or someone feeding 5000 people with a few items of food. And so, we wonder sometimes: Is God still speaking to us? Is God just silent now? Do we just not get it?

            I told that class my theory on it all. I hope Marsha won’t mind if I use her as an example. Marsha shared with us that she has been told she has a child-like faith. I know Marsha has mixed feelings about this, but I figure that since Jesus tells us we should be more like little children, Marsha is doing just fine. But Marsha, when she reads the Bible – she reads it, accepts it, believes it, and feels like what she sees it what she gets. I am pretty sure that if God started chatting with Marsha, she would think it was awesome, but she wouldn’t bat an eyelid, she wouldn’t be skeptical. That’s a gift. But I think in this day and age, most of us just aren’t like that. If someone told us they had walked on water, we would think that they were nuts. If someone told us God appeared to them in a burning bush, we would, well, I think most of us would have our doubts. And I think, I believe, God knows it. Why would God insist on speaking to us in ways that we are not able to hear or understand or believe? Have you ever seen someone try to just speak in slower, louder English to someone who doesn’t speak English? Not very effective. So I think God gets our attention in different ways these days, ways that speak to our skeptical, realist hearts.

            Have any of you read seen the new movie, based on the book, The Hunger Games? The movie has a scene the book does not, since the book is in the first person, and the movie takes a broader view. In this scene, President Snow talks to the Game Maker, Seneca Crane, about striking the right balance between hope and fear among the oppressed people of the districts of Panem, the name of what once was the United States. Snow asks Seneca, “Why do you think we have a winner?” “What do you mean?” he replies. “I mean, why do we have a winner? Hope.” “Hope?” “Hope. It is the only thing stronger than fear. A little hope is effective. A lot of hope is dangerous. A spark is fine, as long as it’s contained.” “So?” “So… contain it.” I wonder, I wonder what would happen if we substituted faith in this exchange: “A little faith is effective. A lot of faith is dangerous. A spark is fine, as long as it is contained.”

            This image of Thomas is one of the most famous of the disciple – Caravaggio’s The Incredulity of Thomas. An article I read this week brought something to my attention: Jesus has grabbed Thomas's wrist, and guided it to touch his wound. Thomas was a questioner, a skeptic a realist. And Jesus met him where he was at. In fact, Jesus went beyond that, guiding Thomas's hand to the proof Thomas needed. And apparently, that was all Thomas did need to say, “My Lord and My God” and to give the rest of his life in service to the gospel. Jesus says, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe,” though, and I believe Jesus is trying to nudge us, push us, beyond the little bit of faith we usually get by on, faith that sustains us, but maybe faith that is so safe, so realist­-oriented, that it doesn’t push us into the risk-taking places God would lead us if we were ready to follow.

            Thomas's faith was strong enough, in the end, to take him far away from the other disciples, into unknown lands, in order to help more people know about Jesus. Thomas, who needed to see Jesus for himself, spent the rest of his life helping others who would never see Jesus face to face believe in his message all the same. Isn't that something? Thank God for meeting us where we are. And thank God for pushing us beyond where we thought we could ever go. “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Amen. 

Sermon for Easter Sunday - Point of View: Easter

Sermon 4/8/12

John 20:1-18, Mark 16:1-8

Point of View: Easter

            Typically, at Easter, we read the resurrection story from the gospel of John – the first lesson we heard today. It’s the most well known, the most liked – the intimate scene of Mary Magdalene discovering Jesus himself at the tomb, finally recognizing him and calling him Teacher. In the three year cycle of scripture texts, you might also hear the resurrection story from Matthew and Luke. But it’s hard to ever focus on the resurrection story from the gospel of Mark. That’s because, like the rest of Mark’s gospel, his resurrection story is pretty short on details. It is only 8 verses long, and it was so upsetting to the early church that by the fourth century, manuscripts existed giving Mark longer endings. In most Bibles today, you’ll see Mark ending at chapter 16 verse 8, with footnotes or other section headings noting a verse 8(b) listed as the “shorter ending of Mark” and then verse 9-20, called the “longer ending of Mark.” Most scholars agree, however, that verses 9-20, in any version, were added on later to compensate for Mark’s strangely brief Easter story, with some scholars speculating that perhaps Mark died before he could finish the gospel, or perhaps the last page of Mark’s work was lost somehow.

Why all this speculation and rewriting? Well, of course, if we take just verses 1-8 in Mark, we never hear about anyone actually seeing the risen Jesus. The young man at the tomb that the women see just tells the women that Jesus has risen and to tell the disciples about it. But the women respond differently than the messenger says. We read, “So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” Leaving it where Mark leaves things, no one proclaims the Easter message that Jesus has risen, at least not right away.

I think the early church added to Mark’s ending because they knew that wasn’t all there was to the story. Obviously, if the women had never told anyone what happened, the news about Jesus wouldn’t have spread. No one would have thought he had risen. So eventually, they must have gotten over their fear and shared the news, and that’s the story folks in the early church wanted to make sure was in Mark’s gospel. But however it came about, I kind of like Mark’s short story, just eight verses long, because in Mark’s original ending, the women had probably the most proper reaction of all to the Easter story – they ran away scared! They were baffled by the news, they had no idea what to do with finding the empty tomb and the man’s strange words, and they were afraid to say anything about their terrifying experience. To me, at least in terms of initial reactions to what was happening, Mark’s gospel makes the most sense of all. But we will come back to Mark in a bit.

As I was preparing my sermon this week, I came upon an article by Carl Gregg that really touched on what I think of when I think of resurrection. Gregg starts with a quote from theologian Clarence Jordan, “The proof that God raised Jesus from the dead is not the empty tomb, but the full hearts of his transformed disciples. The crowning evidence that he lives is not a vacant grave, but a spirit-filled fellowship. Not a rolled-away stone, but a carried-away church.” Gregg reflects on these words, writing, “As Easter approaches, I invite you to consider that we should worry less . . . what people say they believe happened 2,000 years ago and more whether we are living as if resurrection still happens. The question is, “How are we partnering with God today in transforming despair into hope, apathy into compassion, hate into love, and death into new life?” Gregg continues with one more quote, this one from Peter Rollins, who says, “Without equivocation or hesitation I fully and completely admit that I deny the resurrection of Christ. This is something that anyone who knows me could tell you, and I am not afraid to say it publicly, no matter what some people may think. (Pause) I deny the resurrection of Christ every time I do not serve at the feet of the oppressed, each day that I turn my back on the poor; I deny the resurrection of Christ when I close my ears to the cries of the downtrodden and lend my support to an unjust and corrupt system. However there are moments when I affirm that resurrection, few and far between as they are. I affirm it when I stand up for those who are forced to live on their knees, when I speak for those who have had their tongues torn out, when I cry for those who have no more tears left to shed.” (1) Resurrection still happens.

Were any of you fans of the TV show Scrubs? It was never my favorite, but it is one I liked to watch, enjoy watching reruns from time to time. There were a few standout episodes, and one that stands out is where JD, the main doctor on the show, was discussing what dying or heaven might be like with a patient. She, the patient, said that she envisioned a big Broadway production number, with her taking center stage. She dies in the episode, and JD envisions a complete show-stopping ballad, with this woman singing a Colin Hay song. These are some of the lyrics:

And you say, be still my love

Open up your heart

Let the light shine in

But don't you understand

I already have a plan

I'm waiting for my real life to begin

***

And you say, just be here now

Forget about the past, your mask is wearing thin

Let me throw one more dice

I know that I can win

I'm waiting for my real life to begin

***

The song and scene are beautiful. But the lyrics, though poetic, I find troubling. Waiting for my real life to begin. Sometimes, that is exactly what gets me into trouble, or at least, what keeps me from the real life I want: being convinced that I am just waiting for the right moment to start living as I really want to live. Is there something you are putting off doing? A dream you have for your life? Something you’ve wanted to accomplish, but haven’t even started at? Some deeper purpose for your life that you want to reach for and explore, but for some reason, keeping telling yourself, not just yet?

            I think maybe people of faith get the message a bit confused, mixed up about the good news of Jesus, the life-giving message of Easter. Jesus didn’t say: don’t worry about what you do now, because the afterlife is really awesome. He didn’t say this life is nothing and heaven is everything. The message Jesus tried to hammer home in a million parables and lessons and teachings and metaphors was: your real life is right now, because God's kingdom, God's eternity, God's good gifts for you are right now! So stop living like those who are dying, and start living like those for whom death means nothing in the face of abundant, everlasting life. And then, to make sure we really have the message, Jesus himself shows that his death is nothing, means nothing, holds no power over face-to-face with his life. Jesus, whom death cannot hold, asks us: “Real life is here, a gift from God. Why on earth are we not using up every edge and corner of it?”

            Resurrection still happens. Real life is here and now. To me, that is the core of the Easter message, the “so what” of it. All season, we have been asking, “who do we say Jesus is?” We have used the characters of the passion to draw us in closer, but ultimately, we must answer for ourselves. Mark describes followers of Jesus who were overwhelmed at first, on the first Easter. It took a bit for them to know what to make of it. But what we see in John, and in the stories that follow in Acts and in early church history is that resurrection happened – for them. Their lives were resurrected. And so now, the question turns back to us. What happened on that first Easter morning? The gospels point us to the story. But what will happen on this Easter day? You have to tell me. I believe resurrection still happens. I believe Jesus wants us to use up every nook and cranny of our abundant lives. I'm not waiting anymore for real life to begin. I'm going to start living it. Won’t you join me? Amen.   

(1) http://www.patheos.com/blogs/carlgregg/2012/03/practice-resurrection-progressive-christian-theology-for-easter/

Sermon for Fourth Sunday in Lent, non-lectionary - Point of View: Mary, Mary, Mary

Sermon 3/18/12

Luke 7:36-50, 8:1-3, Luke 10:38-42, John 12:1-7, Matthew 27:45-50, 55-61, 28:1

Mary, Mary, Mary

What do we really know about Mary Magdalene? As usual, not much. But in Mary's case, we probably think we know more than we do. We assume an awful lot about poor, misunderstood Mary Magdalene. She is mentioned only rarely in the gospels; in fact, mentioned only one time outside of accounts of Jesus’ death and resurrection. In one passage in Luke, there is mention of the fact that Mary Magdalene had been cured from possession by demons by Jesus, and that she was traveling with him along with some other women and the Twelve as he was teaching and preaching. Other than that, Mary Magdalene is only mentioned in the context of being at the scene of Jesus’ crucifixion, helping the women with burial rites, and then, of course, most significantly, at Jesus’ resurrection, as the first witness, the first teller of the news. She’s mentioned nowhere else, despite popular beliefs. Even now you are probably wondering, but what about this passage, what about that passage? But we have to set the record straight. Mary Magdalene is not the woman caught in adultery. She is not labeled a sinner. She is not a prostitute. She is not the woman who anoints Jesus’ feet. She is not the Mary who is sister to Martha and Lazarus, not the Mary who is praised for simply sitting at Jesus’ feet. All we know for sure is that she was following Jesus, that she witnessed his crucifixion along with other women who were followers.

I’m not exactly sure how or why these several separate women in the scriptures become merged into one. It happened very early in church history, that these several stories began to be folded into one in the Christian narrative. We see evidence that Jesus was inclusive of women in his ministry – radically inclusive for his day – he has women who follow along with the rest of the disciples, he speaks to women in circumstances that were normally considered inappropriate, and he heals women along with men, commending them for their great faith. But after the church was born, when the disciples were leading and growing congregations, women’s roles in the movement began to be suppressed and minimized. By the 6th century, the Pope, Gregory the First, preached a sermon merging the sinful woman who anointed Jesus’ feet, Mary of Bethany, sister of Martha and Lazarus, and Mary Magdalene, together as one person – three women, as one woman. And it was not until 1969 that the Catholic Church officially stated that the sinful woman, Mary of Bethany, and Mary Magdalene were actually three separate women. That’s well over a thousand years of assuming Mary Magdalene to be not only a sinful woman, but more particularly, a prostitute, when the scriptures simply tell us no such thing! Centuries of paintings show Mary Magdalene with bright red hair, worn long, rather than covered as would have been appropriate. Films and musicals, even my own beloved Superstar, have portrayed Mary as a prostitute. Mary Magdalene has been seen as the example of a life redeemed, a forgiven woman who turned things around. A nice story, just not based on the truth!

But then, in the last several years, the tide seemed to turn – people started to get interested in Mary Magdalene again. And if I had to point to what sparked the interest, I’d point to Dan Brown’s The DaVinci Code that was so popular, now almost a decade ago. The book suggested that through DaVinci’s artwork, you could discover the hidden secret – that Jesus really married Mary Magdalene and had a child with her, and that Mary was really the most devoted disciple, whose image had been smeared by those who were jealous of her and her power and bent on telling a certain version of Jesus’ story. Interest in Mary Magdalene exploded, even though Brown’s book was a work of fiction, and people started reading some of the Gnostic Gospels, writings that were not included in our scriptures, which also pictured Mary Magdalene as a prominent disciple, though never as Jesus’ wife.

So who is Mary Magdalene, really? Personally, though I’ve read and enjoyed both The DaVinci Code, and the Gnostic Gospels, I like to focus on what the biblical scriptures tell us, with what is really in the text before us, and understanding that, before adding other sources. So who are these Marys, exactly, and really, who end up so blurred together? Let’s look at what the scriptures actually say.

First, Mary Magdalene. We see her at the tomb on Easter morning. But we’re not ready for Easter yet. The only other place Mary is mentioned is in the other text we read today: “Soon afterwards Jesus went on through cities and villages, proclaiming and bringing the good news of the kingdom of God. The twelve were with him, as well as some women who had been cured of evil spirits and infirmities: Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out, and Joanna, the wife of Herod’s steward Chuza, and Susanna, and many others, who provided for them out of their resources.” This is the only mention of Mary Magdalene other than at the cross, burial, and resurrection of Jesus. From these few verses though, we know that Mary and some other women went with Jesus and the twelve on his preaching and teaching tour. For women in his day, that is a huge and risky commitment. We know that Mary was healed by Jesus, even though we might not understand what it means to be possessed by demons. And we know that these women provided for Jesus and disciples, which suggests that they were women with some wealth and resources at their disposal to use to support Jesus’ ministry. And that is simply all the scriptures say about Mary Magdalene.

Then, there’s Mary of Bethany. We know she’s not Mary Magdalene primarily because Magdala and Bethany are two different places! Mary of Bethany is the sister of Lazarus and Martha. We see her in three significant scenes: We see her sitting and listening at Jesus’ feet while he was at her home, and while Martha prepared a meal. Martha was upset with Mary, but Jesus tells her she’s chosen the better part by listening to him. We see Mary upset with Jesus when Lazarus dies because Jesus did not arrive quickly enough to heal him. This time it is Martha who shines in her understanding of resurrection, and Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. And finally, we see Mary of Bethany anointing Jesus’ feet with costly perfume, and Judas, or in other gospels, all the disciples, being upset over her wastefulness. But Jesus commends her for her act of extravagant love.

And finally, the other woman who is often confused with these two Marys is the unnamed woman who anoints Jesus’ feet at the home of Simon the Pharisee. She and Mary of Bethany both anoint Jesus’ feet, and so the two have often been mistaken for one another, but anointing of feet was not a particularly unusual act. It probably happened to Jesus many times that aren’t even recorded. And thinking of Mary Magdalene as a prostitute also probably comes from this passage about an unnamed woman. This unnamed woman is never called a prostitute, just a sinner, but wearing her hair down, and the way Simon speaks of her being known as a sinner suggest that she may have been a prostitute. But there’s no conclusive proof. So this sinful woman anoints Jesus’ feet with ointment and her own tears. Simon is critical of Jesus for letting such a woman perform this act of devotion, but Jesus, with a parable, says that her sins are forgiven, and because her sins are so completely forgiven, the woman reacts with deeply loving behavior.

These are the three woman who have been rolled into one, but their stories are really quite unique. And there are even other Marys in the Bible – a few actually – but just mentioned by their very common name. So with their identities untangled, we then have to ask what we learn for ourselves. I think restoring Mary Magdalene’s reputation is a worthy endeavor on its own – she deserves to be remembered for what the gospels tell us she was – a follower of Jesus and the first witness of the resurrection. But what do we learn from her? As I’ve said, we’re looking, this Lent, at who we say Jesus is, and what that says about us. So who does Mary Magdalene say that he is? And who does Mary of Bethany say that he is? And who, even, does the sinful woman who anointed his feet say that he is? For each, in different ways, Jesus was quite literally their savior. Mary Magdalene is healed from something described as demon-possession. Seven demons, actually. Whatever this meant, it would have made her ritually unclean and shunned from society. Jesus saves her. Jesus forgives the sins of the unnamed woman, and takes a burden of guilt from her, and she responds with such love, such relief, such thankfulness. Mary of Bethany has her brother returned to life, and finds Jesus’ affirming her choices of discipleship in more than one situation. Jesus has saved these women. Who do they say he is? Their savior. And because they see him this way, their lives change dramatically. Their lives after meeting Jesus are almost unrecognizable from the lives they led before they met, knew, and followed him.

Last week, we talked about Pontius Pilate, and his apathy. He recognized Jesus as someone important, but it didn’t matter to him more than his own power and status. Who Pilate was was more important to him than who Jesus was. He isn’t changed by who Jesus is. When we look at Mary Magdalene and these other women, the questions are the same, and Mary, like Pilate, recognizes Jesus. But the difference, the critical difference, is in the response. Who Jesus is changes Mary Magdalene, and the others, because who Jesus is changes how they see themselves. Mary of Bethany is singled out by Jesus more than once for her sincere discipleship, and we hear more about her than most of the twelve, which tells us how significant she was. The ‘sinful’ woman has her sins forgiven and shows Jesus an act of love, ignoring the insults of a prominent Pharisee. Mary Magdalene packs up and literally follows Jesus, even supporting Jesus and the twelve financially, which would enable them to preach and teach without worrying about their resources. They know who Jesus is to them, and because of it, their lives have changed.

The question is still the same for us this week: Who do you say that Jesus is? How does who he is to you change you? Does knowing Jesus change you? Are you changeable? We’re well into our Lenten journey now, a time of preparation for Easter. I believe that Lent is a time to prepare ourselves to be more changeable on Easter morning. On Easter morning, we’ll see Mary Magdalene in her most significant role yet – the very first witness to the resurrection. And on Easter morning, we’ll have to ask ourselves once and for all who Jesus is, and how it changes us.

I have shared with you before a question I have heard churches should ask themselves: “if your church disappeared today, who, besides its members, would miss it? Who would notice it was gone?” Who would miss this church, besides us, if it was gone, because of the difference we make? We can ask the same question on a personal level: How would your discipleship be missed if you weren’t around? Would your life be any different than it is now if you weren’t a follower of Jesus, or would it be basically the same? In other words, what changes are visible in your life because of who you say Jesus is and what that means you are called to do? Are you changeable? Are we changeable?

Jesus saved them. And it changed their lives. Amen.

Sermon for Third Sunday in Lent (non-lectionary) - Point of View: Pontius Pilate

Sermon 3/11/12

Point of View: Pontius Pilate

I think it’s strange that while the twelve disciples spent three years of their lives with Jesus, we know so very little about them, while Pontius Pilate, our point-of-view focus this morning, spent just a short time with Jesus on one day, and yet we hear more from Pilate than we do half the disciples. As seems usual for these biblical figures, we don’t know a lot about Pilate’s background – there are some conflicting stories over where he was born and what family he was part of – and we don’t know much about his life before he appears in the gospels. But we know that he was a prefect in Judea, and that prefects had certain duties – mostly military oversight and collecting taxes, but also judicial responsibility in some local affairs. During big religious festivals like the Passover, Pilate would be expected to be in Jerusalem, to make sure things were kept under control. And we know that he served as prefect in Judea from 26-36 AD, recalled to Rome perhaps just a year or two after Jesus’ trial. It seems that Pilate frequently found himself in conflict with the people he governed, and his superiors were not happy with his performance. (1)

In the gospels, Pontius Pilate appears only in the trial of Jesus and surrounding events. His name is occasionally mentioned in Acts and in the writings of Paul, but only in reference to Jesus being tried before him. And in the gospel accounts of Jesus’ trial, we get the same general story – we see a Pilate who seems to be struggling between a feeling that Jesus is innocent of the crimes he’s accused of, and a Pilate who is concerned about the crowds and potential mob rule, wanting to please the people to keep them under control. Jesus has been arrested, and already been interviewed by the chief priests. But Pilate had authority over certain matters – in fact, even the high priest was named by the Roman government (1) – and the religious leaders wanted Pilate to condemn Jesus. In Matthew’s account, on which we focus today, Pilate interviews Jesus, asking him if he is the King of the Jews, a claim with political overtones that would threaten both the Jewish religious leaders and the Roman authorities. But Jesus keeps silent, despite the questioning.

Pilate then offers to release a prisoner – Jesus Barabbas, or Jesus “who is called the Messiah.” At this point, we read some commentary from Matthew: Pilate thinks Jesus has been handed over to him because the religious leaders are jealous of Jesus' authority and popularity with the people, and also, his wife warned him to have nothing to do with “that innocent man” Jesus, because of a nightmare she had about him. Pilate seems to want to find a way to set Jesus free without having to actually come out and make the decision. The crowds shout for the release of Barabbas and begin to chant for Jesus’ death – “Let him be crucified! Let him be crucified!” We read that Pilate was overwhelmed by the crowd’s response, feeling he had no choice but to give in: “So when Pilate saw that he could do nothing, but rather that a riot was beginning, he took some water and washed his hands before the crowd, saying, ‘I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to it yourselves.’” Then Pilate releases Barabbas, as the people requested, has Jesus flogged – we’re not even sure why – and hands him over to be crucified.

As with Judas, I have a lot of questions about Pilate. What do we make of Pilate and his actions? Did he just get caught up in something that was out of his control? Is it true what he thought? If he hadn’t allowed Jesus to be put to death, would there really have been a riot that the Roman soldiers could not control? Would Jesus have just been put to death another way by the angry crowds? Can you just decide to wash your hands of a situation and really be free from responsibility? Can Pilate simply declare himself innocent? Who, ultimately, is responsible for Jesus’ death? Could Pilate have taken a stronger stand? Wasn’t he in charge?

We are focusing this Lent on points of view: who people say that Jesus is, and how who they say Jesus is changes who they are themselves, or how who they are changes who they say Jesus is! So if we take these somewhat jumbled questions, and apply them to Pilate, what do we come out with? Who does Pilate say that Jesus is? Surely, we don’t have a lot to go on. But we start to gather a sense even from this scene in Matthew that Pilate catches a glimpse of who Jesus is. He has a feeling that Jesus is something different. He can see that the religious leaders are jealous of Jesus. He knows that his wife has had a strange dream about Jesus and pronounced him innocent. He sees that Jesus is unwilling to argue with him over accusations and frantically defend himself. He is reluctant to condemn Jesus, and anxious not to be held responsible for what will happen to Jesus. When we take all these pieces, these clues, and put them together, it seems that Pilate, if not ready to call Jesus the Messiah exactly, knew that there was something about Jesus . . .

But for Pilate, ultimately, who he is is much more important to him than who Jesus is. Pilate is a prefect of the Roman Empire. What Pilate wants most is to escape blame, from Rome, from the Jews, no matter who Jesus turns out to be. He wants to have no responsibility for the situation before him, which is ironic for someone who wants desperately to keep their role of responsibility and authority. Pilate might believe there’s something more to Jesus – but ultimately, it doesn’t make a difference to him, because who he is, what he wants – his power, his control, his position – all of that is more important to him.

As always, what we learn here, what we learn about Pilate is only meaningful if we can see ourselves in his place. So, I have to ask – are there things that you believe, but your believing doesn’t make a difference to you, make a difference in how you live your life? Let me give you some examples of what I mean. You know I am not a follower of sports, but I would have had to crawl under a rock to miss the story of Joe Paterno, Penn State Football Coach, and the scandal he faced late last year. Paterno was criticized not for abuse himself, but for knowing of abuse that was happening and failing to take sufficient action with what he knew. Many professionals, like teachers, medical personnel, doctors, and in many places, clergy, are mandated reporters, who are required, legally, to report suspected child abuse. The law mandates that with knowledge comes a responsibility to act.

Or think of the current election cycle. In the midst of the Republican primaries, one question I think voters have is: Do what candidates say and what they actually have done or will do in office match up? A common accusation is that candidates flip-flop on positions. Mitt Romney, for example, has been trying to appeal to more conservative Republicans, but has also been criticized then for distancing himself with previous actions and statements when he served as governor. Voters want to know: Is this what he really believes? Or is he just saying what he thinks I want to hear?

One more example. You have probably heard this famous poem by Pastor Martin Niemoller, written in the wake of Nazism and the Holocaust. First they came for the communists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Jew. Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak out for me. We say actions speak louder than words, and if that is true, then inaction is a deafening silence.  

What about our faith journeys? What about discipleship? What I want to know is this: What do you believe about Jesus? Who do you think that he is? And what difference has that made in the way that you live? Or, like Pontius Pilate, are there too many things about who we are and what we want for ourselves for us to actually let what we believe about Jesus change our lives?

One of my colleagues posed a question on his blog: “What is the most destructive force in a congregation?” He listed multiple-choice responses, including unresolved conflict, which had the most votes, followed by power struggles, narrow-mindedness, gossip, and keeping secrets. But I selected the ‘other’ option and added in my own response: apathy. The church is at risk when we don’t translate what we believe into how we live as individuals and as a congregation. To me, what is most destructive to churches is just this dilemma that we see in Pontius Pilate. We believe something, but what we believe doesn’t necessarily change anything. Consider what we believe as a congregation: I trust that generally, we believe in God, believe in Jesus, believe that Jesus set an example for us, believe that we’re meant to be disciples, believe that God loves us, and so on. We might come down differently on exactly what those beliefs mean in detail, but at the core, I think we’re on the same page. Where we need to ask ourselves the hard questions, where we need to do some soul-searching is when we ask ourselves: what difference does what we believe make?

Jesus said, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” What is it we are taking up? Taking up the cross means taking a risk to follow Jesus, and what we must risk is different for each one of us. What is holding us back? What is it that you are afraid to risk? I’m guessing, that with a little introspection, it wouldn’t take you long to answer that question. In our discipleship, in our faith journey, we get into trouble when the cost of following Jesus is always more than we are willing to pay, and when what it costs us is always a bigger concern than acting on what we believe. When we believe, but still fail to act, that’s apathy. When we believe, but still fail to act, that’s of more concern than those who don’t know what they believe yet. For Pontius Pilate, the cost to himself was his primary concern. He knew Jesus shouldn’t be condemned to death. But the cost Pilate would bear was too much. What he was willing to risk, willing to ‘spend’ on what he believed was nothing. What are you willing to spend? What will you risk? What is that task to which God is calling you that nags at the back of your mind, the corners of your heart? What do you believe about God? And so what? How has it changed you? Who do you say that Jesus is? And how will your answer change your life?

Amen.

Sermon for Second Sunday in Lent (non-lectionary) - Point of View: Judas

Sermon 3/4/12

Matthew 26:6-50, 27:3-10

Point of View: Judas

            Can we see things from Judas's point of view? Or maybe, we are worried we can see from his point of view too easily? I remember, once in college, we were at a meeting of one of the faith groups I was part of on campus, and the chaplain noted that there were twelve of us, and he mentioned that we were like the twelve disciples. And I couldn’t help but wonder: then which one of us gets to be Judas? Who would want to claim to be Judas? Which disciple would you be willing to claim? Maybe one of the ones that barely gets a mention beyond their original call by Jesus?

            I told you last year a bit about my fascination with Judas. Of course, it started with Jesus Christ Superstar, and the actor I had a crush on, but it went beyond that, as I started to wonder about Judas and his role in the Passion story. I shared with you the nagging questions I had.  As we heard in our gospel reading today, Judas committed suicide, hung himself, out of guilt for his actions, for betraying Jesus and putting him into the hands of his enemies. I had been taught that suicide was a sin that condemned someone to hell. An unforgiveable sin. But it was the way Judas was portrayed in Superstar that made me start to wonder, because Judas was depicted almost as a hero in the story, misguided maybe, but still someone to root for. Right there, in our text today from Matthew, we read this: “When Judas, his betrayer, saw that Jesus was condemned, he repented.” Judas repented. That word, the word used here – it’s the same word for repentance that Jesus and John the Baptist use when the first preach their message: Repent! If Judas repented, how could he be condemned to eternal punishment? And what’s more: In the gospel of John, Jesus talks about Judas’ betrayal being part of the plan. If Judas had to betray Jesus in order for Jesus to go through the suffering and death and resurrection, how can Judas be held accountable for his actions? Was he acting as part of his own free will, making his own choices, or was he predestined to betray Jesus? And if he was predestined, can he be judged for his actions?

            I presented all of these questions to my Sunday School teacher at the time. Her answer to me was simple: Judas committed suicide, so Judas went to hell. I was not satisfied with her answer. I was just sure there had to be more to it. So I wrote a letter to a publication that used to exist called Youth! Magazine. They had a column for questions like mine, and I hoped for an answer. My question never got printed, but the editor of the magazine wrote me back a long, wonderful letter, that I wish I could still find. In it, he said what I have come to believe is true – basically sharing with me a message from Romans 8 – nothing in life or in death can separate us from God’s love. He said God’s grace was so amazing that he was unwilling to put any kind of limits on God’s love, even for, or perhaps especially for – Judas. Needless to say, I found his letter very comforting. My Sunday School teacher, on the other hand, was not so excited to be so contradicted!

            When I was a senior in college, I had to write my capstone paper for my pre-theology major, and I decided to look at Jesus and Judas in literature. I discovered that sometimes Judas was portrayed as the worst person in all of history. Sometimes, like in Superstar, Judas was the misunderstood hero. But sometimes, Judas was portrayed as a mix of good impulses and bad decisions. Even though Superstar remained my favorite portrayal of Judas, I was particularly moved by these pieces of literature – a Judas who you could relate to. A Judas that made you wonder how you would have acted in his shoes.

           My questions haven’t changed much over the years: Who is Judas? Why did he do what he did? The truth is, like many of Jesus’ disciples, we really don’t know very much about Judas at all, even if we see him depicted often enough in fiction, firm, musicals. We don’t know his family background, we don’t know what he did, we don’t know where he came from. I’ve read many different theories, but of course, most are conjecture, imaginings, really, rather than fact-based theories. And since we know so little about Judas, we also don’t know very much about his motivations for betraying Jesus. Only the gospel of John mentions that Judas is treasurer for the group of disciples, and suggests that greed for the payment of silver is the motivation for betrayal. But the other gospels never mention anything like this at all. As in our gospel reading for today, Matthew, Mark, and Luke segue with new interlude into mentioning that Judas was looking for an opportunity to betray Jesus. Things get confusing, for me, to understand logically. Why would the religious leaders even need Judas to betray Jesus? They knew where Jesus was, and showed up to hear him preach and teach all the time. It wasn’t as though Jesus was in hiding and Judas led them to a secret location. We can’t imagine that 30 coins alone would have tempted Judas to betray Jesus – even though it was a hefty sum, it wasn’t enough make him set for life, a year, or even half year actually. What motivates Judas? I wonder, very much. But what we know for sure is that almost every time Judas is mentioned in the scriptures, he is called, “Judas, who later betrayed him.” You never have to wonder how he will turn out. The scriptures say it over and over before the betrayal even unfolds. We know that from Mark, the earliest gospel, to John, the latest written, Judas is increasingly portrayed as villainous and evil. And I can tell you that while Judas was always known for his betrayal, it was a few centuries after the birth of the church that Judas began to be seen as the sole disciple responsible for Jesus’ death. In fact, over time, Judas began to be a symbol for all Jews who didn’t accept Christ, and was a figure used by anti-Semites in their hatred of Jews. Judas, who later betrayed him.

            Imagine if your whole life, you were called by a name that was based on one event, one action, even a bad one. Beth, you know, Beth who preached that awful sermon? Della, who messed up the offertory. Joe, who couldn’t hold down a job. Marge, who really screwed up her kids. Bob, who caused that car accident. What if, your whole life, you had to carry descriptors of your mistakes, even your worst ones, as part of your name? What if, in the telling of your life story, you had to stick with a label of your worst moment before even telling what happened. Judas, who later betrayed him.

What does it mean to betray someone? In the case of Judas, the definition of his actions which I found to best fit was this: "To prove faithless or treacherous to, as to a trust or one who trusts; to be false to; to deceive; as, to betray a person or a cause." (1) That fits, doesn’t it? Whatever Judas’ motives were, I think we can accurately say he proved faithless to Jesus. Why ever it was, whatever caused it, Judas ultimately did not have faith in Jesus.

What does it all mean for us? What difference does Judas’ betrayal mean for us? To me, in some ways, Judas is important in just the same way understanding every other text in the scriptures is important. We draw closer to God through understanding, and we understand by putting ourselves into the text, seeing ourselves in the story. Can we see ourselves in Judas, who later betrayed him? My biggest problem with how we’ve remembered Judas in Christian tradition is that by seeing him as so evil, we fail to see ourselves in him. Vilifying him makes us feel better. At least we’re not Judas, right? At least we’re better than Judas, the greedy traitor, Judas, who later betrayed him.  

And yet, if we think of the definition of betrayal again, we have some hard questions to answer. To betray is to prove faithless to. Have you ever proven yourselves faithless to Jesus? We may find it hard to believe that after spending three years as a disciple following Christ from place to place that we'd then turn Jesus over to men we knew were trying to kill him. On the other hand, we may not find it so hard to think of ways that we betray Jesus, perhaps even on a daily basis. If to betray means to prove faithless, then we are indeed very much like Judas. Judas, for whatever reason, did not have faith enough to believe in the path Jesus was following. Do we have enough faith? Maybe, sometimes, more often than we want to admit, we don't have faith enough to believe that God has called us for plans beyond our imagination. We don't have faith enough to invest ourselves, our money, our time, and our gifts into God's care. We don't have faith enough to believe that God gives us grace, a gift there for the taking, without our needing to do something to earn it. We don’t have enough faith to actually follow Jesus instead of following our own plans for ourselves. And our lack of faith betrays Jesus as surely as Judas did.

But if we can let Judas be redeemed, if we can let Judas be more than the one who later betrayed him, if we can believe, like that magazine editor did, that God’s unconditional love is truly unconditional, than perhaps we can help Judas move beyond, as we move beyond. If we can see ourselves in Judas, if we can admit that our actions often betray the Jesus we claim to follow, then we too, like Judas, can repent. But we can also move beyond. Judas couldn’t move beyond what he’d done and neither could those who would tell his story. I can’t imagine the grief and guilt he must have felt. And I wonder what might have happened, if Judas had chosen another path, if reconciliation might have been possible in his life on earth, as I believe it is always and everywhere possible with God. We are blessed always with the chance – the hope and promise really, that we can move beyond. We aren’t defined by our sins, but by God’s love and forgiveness. Beth, whose sermon made me think. Della, whose music touched my soul. Joe, whose life God changed. Marge, who is really wonderful with young people. Bob, who God loves. You, who proved yourself faithful to God’s love. Amen.