Sermon for Fourth Sunday of Easter, "Resurrection Stories: Bless You," 2 Kings 4:20-35

Sermon 5/11/14

2 Kings 4:20-35

Resurrection Stories: Bless You

            If you’re thinking that today’s scripture lesson sounds a lot like last week’s scripture lesson, that’s good. It means you’ve been paying attention. Last week, we read about Elijah, who stayed in the home of a woman who had a son, who died, who Elijah then raised from the dead. Today, we’re reading about Elisha, who is staying at the home of a woman who has a son, and he dies, and Elisha raises him from the dead. A little confusing, right?

            Last week, remember, we talked about how Elijah’s prophetic words and actions weren’t very popular, since he criticized King Ahab and Queen Jezebel for their idolatrous practices. Eventually, Elijah is overwhelmed, exhausted from his prophetic work that keeps putting his life in jeopardy, and he turns to God for help. God tells Elijah that he’ll have someone to hand his work over to – a man named Elisha. For several years, Elisha journeys with Elijah as sort of a prophet-apprentice, and when Elijah prepares to leave earth, to be caught up into heaven, Elisha boldly asks for a double-portion of Elijah’s spirit. And it is given to him, just as he asks. What follows in the rest of the accounts of Kings is indeed, Elisha acting with a seeming double portion of Elijah’s spirit, and many stories of Elisha mirror and expand on things we’d read about Elijah.

            Today, again, our text opens in the middle of the story, so let’s back up a bit. Elisha is traveling one day through a town called Shunem, when he encounters a wealthy woman who urges him to stop and have a meal at her home. He does, and soon, whenever he passes that way, he stops for a meal. The woman suggests to her husband that they build an addition to their home, a small room, so that Elisha can stay with them when he comes to town. She does this, we read, because she believes that Elisha is a “holy man of God.”

            One time, while staying at the woman’s home, Elisha calls to his servant, Gehazi, and asks him to bring the woman to him. Elisha then asks her what she wants, as thanks for all that she has done for Elisha. He offers even to address the king on her behalf if she wants something. The woman, in response, suggests she has all she needs. So Gehazi suggests to Elisha that the woman has no son, and is unlikely because of her husband’s age to have one. Elisha then announces to her that she will bear a son, and she responds, “Oh no, man of God, don’t lie to your servant!” But, in time, she indeed gives birth to a son.

            Some years pass by – we’re not sure how many. But we read that “when the child was older” he complains to his father, “Oh my head, oh my head.” The child is brought to his mother to sit on her lap, and he dies in her arms. The woman doesn’t hesitate. She carries him and lays him down on Elisha’s bed – the “man of God’s” bed, the text says. She refers to Elisha this way throughout this scene. And she gets ready and goes to find him, “the man of God.” Elisha sees her approaching and sends Gehazi to ask if everything is ok. She says, “It is all right,” and keeps moving, until she gets close enough to the man of God to catch hold of his feet. Gehazi tries to push her away, but Elisha tells Gehazi to let her be. The woman says, “Did I ask God for a son? Didn’t I tell you not to lie to me?” So, Elisha sends Gehazi to go quickly with Elisha’s staff to try to raise the child. It doesn’t work. But meanwhile, more slowly, Elisha arrives with the woman, who has refused to go without him. Elisha goes to the child, prays to God, and performs something that might read to us like a medical intervention – almost like a version of CPR or mouth-to-mouth-resuscitation – although now the child has been long dead. But, sneezing seven times, the child opens his eyes. Elisha calls the woman in, and tells her “take your son.”

            As similar as this story is to the story we heard about Elijah last week, the differences are important. This story isn’t about idolatry, like last week’s story. The woman and her husband live in Shunem, a town in Issachar, a tribe of Israel. And the woman is married and wealthy, not a widow trying to scrape together enough food to live. So the focus of this miraculous raising of a child from the dead is different. We know what it isn’t about, but do we know what it is about?

            Like so many women in the Bible, this woman is never named for us, usually just described as “the Shunnamite woman.” But though we never get her name – or the rest of her family’s, for that matter, she’s the center of the story. She’s the one who recognizes Elisha as a man of God. She’s the one who suggests building a room for Elisha. She’s the one who scoffs at his announcement of her pregnancy. She’s the one who holds her dying child, who lays him in Elisha’s room, who commands the servants to ready her for travel, who pursues Elisha, who grasps his feet, who won’t leave without him, who holds him accountable, who demands action. Sure, Elisha performs the resurrection, but you almost sense he’d be in big trouble with her, the mother, if he didn’t. She’s confident. She’s bold. She doesn’t hesitate to go after what she wants. She calls out Elisha as a man of God, and knowing that, she knows what he can do and doesn’t rest until he does it.

            On this Mother’s Day, I can’t help but think of this mother and her determination and think about my own mother, and other mothers you know who might have acted like this woman. My mother is one of the sweetest people you’ll ever meet. This week I presented my Doctor of Ministry paper in Ohio, and over the course of the quick two day trip I took there and back this week, I think she told me she was proud of me literally at least twenty times. I tease her about that, but if your worst quality is boosting someone up too much, really, you aren’t doing too bad. She’s the kind of mom that everyone thinks of as their mom. Really, even strangers seem to see her, and immediately want to share with her their life stories. She’s just inviting like that. But she can be fierce – don’t be fooled. Woe to you if you hurt one of her children! A few years back, I was dealing with a rather mean and cranky landlord, and when I was moving out, he gave me a hard time about everything. My mother came with me for my final inspection, and she only spoke a few words, but if looks could kill…let’s just say, my landlord became much more agreeable in my mother’s presence. And she can be fiercely protective when she has a child in danger. When I was in eighth grade, I managed to pin my leg beneath my family’s mini-van in a grocery store parking lot. How I managed that is a long story where I come out looking rather foolish, so we’ll call that part not important. But when my mom discovered me, pinned under then minivan, she, not seeing any available help, just pushed the minivan off me. Talk about adrenaline! When her child was in danger, she was totally confident and capable of doing what was needed – getting me to safety.

Mother’s Day isn’t a liturgical holiday – it isn’t a part of our church calendar. And I am so deeply aware of all of the mixed emotions all of us bring on a day like this. Some of us have mothers like mine – loving and kind. Some of us have lost our mothers. Some mothers have lost children. Some mothers were not kind or loving. Some of us were surrounded by other strong women who love us like mothers. Some of us were adopted or adopted to become mothers. Some of us have wanted to be mothers, but haven’t been able to. Some of us love mothers, without ever wanting the role for ourselves. But thankfully what we see to admire in this fierce, bold, confident mother in our text today is something we can all emulate in our lives. Because as much as she was motivated to act because of her love for her child, because of her desire to protect him by going to whatever lengths necessary, even demanding that he be brought back to life, I think her primary reason for her actions is because of her faith in God and her confidence in who Elisha is and who he represents. Seven times in this story alone the woman refers to him directly or indirectly as the “man of God.” She quite literally makes room for God in her house, building an addition just so Elisha will have a better place to stay when he’s in town. She is totally confident in Elisha’s ability to restore her child’s life. Her actions suggest entire confidence, complete belief that Elisha, with God’s power, will make her child live. Her faith, her confidence, her actions, her trust in God – that all transcends her role as mother, a response she makes as a faithful disciples, one who believes entirely in God and God’s resurrecting power.

How confident are you in God’s resurrecting power? How bold does your faith in God make you? How much are you sure that God is truly powerful, truly loving, truly acting in the world, truly holding the power of life, hope, resurrection? How much room have you made for God in your life, trusting in God’s power to impact your life deeply? On this day, as you reflect on some special women in your life who have been your advocates and supporters, your encouragers, going to battle for you, confident in you, proud of you, loving you, and on this day as you, men and women, everyone, as you seek to be these loving figures in the lives of others: on this day, know that you can put your faith in God, our loving parent, bold in claiming us as children, fierce in seeking what is good for us, moving heaven and earth to draw new life from us, even when we feel empty and hopeless and lifeless. Confident in God, trusting in God’s promises, don’t just sit timidly back, waiting for resurrection to find you. Seek out resurrection. Grasp onto life. Trust that new life is for you, offered by God. Be bold, and receive the gift of God. Amen.

Sermon, "Resurrection Stories: Widow's Son," 1 Kings 17:17-24

Sermon 5/4/2014

1 Kings 17:17-24

Resurrection Stories – Widow’s Son

            We’re continuing to look at Resurrection Stories in the scriptures as we move through the Great Fifty Days of Easter – did you know that’s one of the titles of this season? Not just the fifty days of Easter – but the Great Fifty Days of Easter. What greater thing can we celebrate than the power of resurrection? So we’re looking at Resurrection Stories in the Bible, and we’re hoping that they will stir up in us reminders of or motivation for or anticipation of the resurrection stories that take place in our own lives. In fact I spoke to someone just this week who is about to make some major changes in her life that will give her new life, that will resurrect her in amazing ways. I could feel the sense of hope and possibility in our midst just from listening to her talk about her plans. Resurrection, the new life God wants to give us, is so powerful.

            Today we find ourselves in 1 Kings, following the prophet Elijah. Our text today starts kind of in the middle of the scene, so let’s give ourselves some context. We’re in the 9^th Century in First Kings, one of the books of history in the Bible, during the reign of King Ahab. In other words, this passage takes place a few hundred years before the text we read about Ezekiel and the dry bones last Sunday. King Ahab allowed the worship of a foreign god in the palace, building a temple for Baal, and allowing Jezebel, his wife, a princess from Phoenicia, to bring a large entourage of priests and prophets of Baal and Asherah into the country. In other words, Ahab was allowing idolatry to take place, in fact, encouraging idolatry, worship of other gods, right in his very own home. Obviously, this was breaking the law of Moses, the Ten Commandments, the most important of the commandments – love God – worship only God – in a big way. “Hear O Israel, the Lord our God is one.”

Elijah then appears suddenly on the scene. We don’t really know who he is or anything about him. We don’t know his background or his role in the society or why anyone would listen to anything he has to say. His name, Elijah, literally means, “My God is Yahweh.” So Elijah may actually be a title applied to him rather than his given name. But we don’t know anything else. So this Elijah appears on the scene and takes a number of bold, confrontational actions. It starts with Elijah declaring to Ahab that there will be a long drought because of Ahab’s idolatrous practices. Elijah delivers that news, and then gets out of town fast, at God’s command. God keeps Elijah alive despite the drought, eventually sending him to a widow in Zarephath. Zarephath was a town in Phoenicia – a town in a foreign land, a place where folks worshipped Baal. Elijah asks the widow for food and water, but the woman says she has only a very little. Elijah tells her not to worry, the God of Israel will not let the meal or oil fail, but it will provide enough for Elijah, the widow, and her son, until the drought ends. And it is just so – they survive. But then, as our text opens today, seemingly unrelated to the drought, the widow’s son falls ill and dies.

The widow pleads with Elijah, calling him a man of God who has “brought her sin to remembrance” and caused her son’s death. In other words, the woman feels that Elijah’s God, Yahweh, must be angry that she does not worship Yahweh. Elijah has called attention to her by staying with her, and she’s being punished. Elijah in turn pleads with God, essentially saying, “God, listen, you can’t put me in this sticky situations, so help me out.” Elijah prays over the son, “Let this child’s life come into him again.” And the child is alive again, and Elijah brings him downstairs to his mother. And she says, “‘Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of Yahweh in your mouth is truth.”

This story of the raising of the widow’s son accomplishes several things at once. First, it serves as a “credentialing” story for Elijah. Often, the scriptures give us a “call story” for prophets. We see where they were or what they were doing before they began their work, or we know that they acted as an advisor to the king or so on. But with Elijah, we know nothing. So this story illustrates that God was with him and that he was speaking and acting on God’s behalf, as God wanted him to act.

But it does more than that. This and all the stories of Elijah demonstrate that Yahweh is God not Baal. The passage shows us God’s faithfulness and power. So this new life story is about new life through God rather than elsewhere. We’ll come back to that. But I want to point out something else really important about this chapter first. The widow, though she is a foreigner, living in an area that would worship Baal, seems to be convinced of the power of the God Elijah talks about. She talks about Elijah’s God, and witnesses how God provides for Elijah and her family during the drought. When her son dies, she believes in God – she believes, in fact, that God has punished her, that her son’s death is a result of her not following this Yahweh. So Elijah doesn’t raise her son so that she’ll believe in the power of God. She already believes God is powerful enough to bring about her son’s death as punishment! No, Elijah raises her son to demonstrate that God isn’t about death and punishment! God is about mercy, hope, and new life! God isn’t out to punish the woman for her lack of belief or even for having followed another god. No, Yahweh acts to demonstrate that God is the God of life, of living, of hope, of resurrection. The widow, then, is offered through Elijah an opportunity to witness the power of God, an opportunity to be transformed by the power of resurrection. The woman is expecting punishment. But as usual, God offers grace instead. And because of that, because of life, not death, the woman concludes: “Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth.”

I wonder, when we’re trying to offer to others the gift of God that we have found – do we offer death and punishment, or do we offer grace, hope, and life? When we were driving down to Kentucky for our mission trip last week, my passengers Emma and Daija noticed some big billboards, proclaiming that hell is real, with the letter H filled in with fiery flames, suggesting that if you didn’t want to end up in hell, you better connect with Jesus really soon. We talked about whether or not these billboards were achieving their intended purpose. I think we’ve got some good news to share. Life-giving, hope-giving, resurrecting news to share about God. Most people find that death and despair is all around them – that’s not news. But resurrection? Life that can’t be conquered by death? That’s some good news. It was good news for the widow of Zarephath. And it’s good news for us, meant to be shared.

This passage also asks us a question: Where else are you trying to get new life from that isn’t God? Today we heard from Linda Loomis, who spoke about our stewardship theme for this year. And as we think about the family tree of our church, we think of what it means to be rooted. What are we rooted in that is giving us life? We’re rooted in Christ. Our life comes from God who breathes God’s own breath, God’s own spirit into us, and we’re given life, rooted in Christ. If we’re planted somewhere else, not by the water, our roots will be unhealthy, and we’ll never grow like we could. Elijah, in this story and in the other stories about him from 1 Kings, has one mission: to encourage people to stop turning to things other than God seeking life. Anytime we seek new life from something other than God, anytime we make that other thing more important to us, more of a focus for us than God, not only are we being idolatrous, but we’re also just engaging in futile behavior. We’re setting ourselves up for failure. Plant yourself by the tree. Seeking new life? Make sure you’re looking in the right place, seeking new life from the right source. As you think about your life, the places you are seeking resurrection, how and where are you seeking after new life?

Then Elijah said, ‘See, your son is alive.’ So the woman said to Elijah, ‘Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth.’ Amen.

Sermon for Second Sunday of Easter, "Resurrection Stories: Dry Bones," Ezekiel 37:1-14

Sermon 4/27/2014

Ezekiel 37:1-14

Resurrection Stories – Dry Bones

            Last week, as we gathered on Easter Morning, we heard The Resurrection Story – as we lingered with Mary at the tomb long enough to experience the resurrected Christ, as we pondered the difference between resuscitated lives and resurrected lives. But the celebration of Easter isn’t a one day event. As we sang last week, we are indeed Easter people, and every day to us is Easter because we always live in the promise of the victory of life over death. And so we always celebrate Easter, but we also have a liturgical season of Easter that is fifty days long – lasting from Easter Sunday to the day of Pentecost. These days represent the forty days that Jesus remained on earth after the resurrection, and the days leading up to the disciples receiving the Holy Spirit, which we’ll celebrate in June. Fifty days of Easter. During these fifty days, we’ll be lingering, so to speak, sticking with this Resurrection Story – as we seek out and listen to and learn to tell our own resurrection stories. The scriptures are filled with stories of resurrection – the victory of life over death, hope over despair – in many different forms. Each week, we’ll look at a different story of resurrection from the Bible, and we’ll think about what it means for us, and what resurrection looks like in our own lives.

            Many of you know that I was blessed to spend part of this past week with our Red Bird Mission team in rural Kentucky, where 18 of our youth and adults worked hard to repair homes, make improvements to ministry buildings, and do other projects to aid in the outreach work of Red Bird Mission. I knew I’d have to work on my sermon a bit while I was there with them, so I decided to take advantage of my captive audience, and I spent some time asking the trip participants questions about our scripture text today. I didn’t get to interview quite everyone, but I got many responses, and I’ll let you hear some of their answers, as we enjoy this way to be connected to them, even as they travel home today. They got to be my guinea pigs, since I am hoping that eventually we’ll all be more able to think about and share about God’s resurrecting power in our own lives.

We start our study of resurrection stories with a passage from the prophet Ezekiel, known as The Valley of Dry bones. Ezekiel was a priest living in exile in Babylon, with other Israelites. I think it is hard for most of us to imagine our whole community being conquered and living in exile in a foreign land, but the time of exile, in the sixth century BC, was Israel’s most devastating experience since their slavery under Egyptian rule. They were a people whose religious roots were deeply tied to their land – the Promised Land – and living in exile represented a great turning away from faithfulness to God.

Ezekiel, then, describes in this passage an image God brings to him that represents what the exiled people of Israel look like emotionally – like a valley dry bones – skeletons. “The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. [The Lord] led me all round them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry,” we read. Then God asks Ezekiel, “Mortal, can these bones live?” Ezekiel is smart, and says, “You know God.” God tells Ezekiel to prophesy that God will breathe into the bones and cause them to be covered with flesh and come to life again. Ezekiel does as he’s told, and it happens just as God describes, and the bones live again, given flesh and breath. These newly living beings say that their bones are dried up and their hope is lost. But God responds to them: “I will bring you back to the land of Israel. And you shall know that I am the Lord … I will put my spirit within you and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil.” Eventually, Israel does come home from exile, and slowly, they come back to life, and reclaim their identity.  

This passage is popular passage in the Bible. If you know anything from Ezekiel, chances are this is the story you know. And I think it’s so popular because of how easy it is for us to relate to the image of dry bones. How often have you felt like dry bones, piled up in the valley, no life in you, no hope in you? I asked our Red Bird folks to talk to me about the dry bones imagery.

Eric Holmes shared that he thought of dry bones as a metaphor for what happens when you don’t live the life God wants you to live. It’s like the “old boots in the closet that dry out and age,” he said. But then “you find them, and then you find the boot rub ointment, and bring new life into the old boots and bring them back to what they’re meant to be used for.” Marybeth talked about the hustle and bustle of life. When you get caught up in what other people are saying, when you feel useless, overwhelmed by stress, like you are at your lowest point. Kay Phillips said dry bones are when you feel like there’s nowhere to go. Like you might as well just die. “Have I ever felt like that?” she said, “Yeah! But when I start to feel like that, I look back over all the different times that I’ve felt like that where God has turned it around, so I know that [God will turn it around] again.” Dry bones come, she said, when we try to do it on our own instead of with God’s help. Mike Nortman talked about dry bones as “desolation. Isolation.” Sika said dry bones are when “you are sad and you don’t have anything to fulfill you and you don’t have anything to interest you and you don’t have anything to dedicate your heart to and you’re are stuck and you don’t feel well and you feel empty inside.” Sakari equated dry bones with that feeling you get when you’ve worked so hard that you’ve used up every bit of energy you have. Dominique, our animal lover, said dry bones make her think of bird’s bones, many of which are hollow. Dry bones are when it feels like our bones are hollow, she said, even though they aren’t supposed to be – that hollow, empty feeling. Emma talked about a recent challenging health struggle, where her long recovery kept her out of school for months and she had to sleep and sleep to recover. She felt like dry bones. Bill Mann talked about a time when he was a child and his uncles were fighting in World War II, and he lost sleep, worrying that they would never come home. Others talked about struggles with depression, or watching loved ones face that struggle. It seems like we can all relate to dry bones. Have you ever felt like dry bones?

            So I next asked folks what it felt like to have God’s breath breathed in to you. What does it feel like when you’ve been feeling like dry bones, and suddenly, God brings you to life again? Mike Nortman talked about climbing a mountain and how it feels to reach the summit and see the view. “I think it is because of the expanse of the view,” he said. “It’s huge yet comforting to be there, which is how I feel about God.” Kay said it’s like a brand new morning. “You see the sun and hear the birds and you know it’s gonna be all right.” Marybeth said it feels like a cleanse, refreshing. “I know when I’m doing something through God it just feels right – not high or low – just right.” Paula Lamberson said it’s “a feeling I know I can’t get on my own, no matter how hard I try to do it on my own – it’s not the same [on my own.]” Daija Dowe said she feels God breathes life into her when she helps other people. Lexie Ryan talked about building new relationships and working hard feeling like a new start. Dominique talked about “all the little things that fill us up that we may not even [realize].” Elliott Lawrence talked about his work with the Conference Youth – “[You feel] really good, like you are surrounded by people who care about you who also have God’s breath in them and you can feel God’s presence all around you.” Eric talked about getting involved with the LIFE Youth program, remembering how Mike and Janet Ehrhart convinced him to come: “All you have to do is be there. You don’t have to do anything.” And now he’s one of the primary youth leaders here. What about you? When and how have you been brought back to life by God’s holy breathe filling you up? What did that feel like? What made your experiences so life-giving?

            Finally, I asked folks about the verse in this passage that really caught me. God talks about planting the newly God’s-breath-filled people on “their own soil.” Of course, this language is literal – God’s talking about bring the people back to Israel from Babylonian exile. But it is also rich in metaphor. What does it mean to have God plant you in your own soil? That’s what I asked our Red Bird folks. Kay said her own soil is when she’s doing something for someone else. Kay got injured on the worksite on the first day at Red Bird. She ended up with 38 stiches and quite the story to tell, but remained in her irrepressible good spirits throughout the whole adventure. Kay said that her biggest frustration with her injury was that it disturbed the work folks were there to accomplish. She wasn’t there to be helped but to help! That’s her own soil. Marybeth said, “It makes me think of the word confident – confident God has me, that I can go out into the world, that I’m protected.” Mike said his own soil is when he’s at home – not necessarily the physical place – but when he feels at home. Bill feels like he’s on his own soil when he can help others, especially if he can do it without them knowing about it. He’s on his own soil when he can use the gifts and talents God’s given him to help others. Paula said it’s when you have that knowledge that you are where you belong, not wandering anymore, not frustrated, not on an island alone. A peace. Elliott said being put on your own soil is developing your own self, your own self-image, your own uniqueness, being different, but with God and others to support you. Dominique said being on your own soil is being “in the element that [God] created us for – like how Marybeth [is] an EMT – that’s her soil, she’ knows what she’s doing, confident, happy, to help people. With me, with animals is where I can help – that’s what God wanted me to do. [It’s] what we can really find ourselves in.” Emma said being on your own soil is when you are serving God. She’s noticed that since she’s committed herself to serving God, opportunities keep appearing in her life to do just that. Daija spoke of being set on solid ground. Sika talked about the soil being God’s plan for our lives. Eric said it’s being in the place you are supposed to be. Lexie said being planted on your own soil is being “somewhere where you belong and fit in and [you’re with] people who belong with you – like a chain – like this link belongs next to this link – these links go together. [Being in your own soil is being in] the right place for your link.” What’s your own soil? Where is God placing you, so that you’ll grow and live and feel God’s breath coursing through you, resurrected, hope renewed?

I felt like I should let some of my youth write my sermon more often. Some deep wisdom from all those youth and adults. I feel blessed by their stories. They all knew what I meant by dry bones. But they also all knew what it meant to have God breathe new life into them. They knew something about the feeling of being placed on their own soil. What about you, Easter people? We’ve heard Jesus’s resurrection story. We’ve heard Ezekiel’s story, and the story of the exiled Israelites. We’ve heard from some of our mission team. Now it’s your turn. What’s your story of new life? What story of God’s resurrection power will you share? Amen.

Sermon for Easter Sunday, "Resurrection Story," John 20:1-18

Sermon 4/20/2014

John 20:1-18

Resurrection Stories – Easter

            Have any of you tried watching the new ABC series called Resurrection? As a pastor, I felt like it was my duty to at least check the show out – how could I not watch, at least once, a show called Resurrection? I don’t want to spoil it for you, if you plan on watching eventually, but the basic concept of the series is this. Starting with a little boy who drowned over thirty years ago, people who died start returning to a small town, very much alive. For everyone else, years have passed, but for the people who died, they return having not aged a day. It’s like someone pressed “pause” on their lives, and then suddenly hit “play” again.

            You would think, wouldn’t you, that these people, returned from the dead, would be a cause of joy, right? But it turns out that their return causes a lot of trouble. People have moved on, grown older, remarried. People have grieved already, and find themselves grieving again when their loved one returns because it isn’t exactly the same. They’ve moved on, in some ways, and although the return of one they thought lost brings joy, there’s not a place for that person anymore. It doesn’t quite fit, doesn’t quite work.

            I noticed, too, that they never really use the word resurrected in the show. They call the people who have come back from the dead “The Returned.” Now, I don’t think the show is trying to make a theological statement, but I find it so interesting that even the tv show character seem to know that what they’re experiencing isn’t truly resurrection. Yes, folks have returned from the dead, and that’s turning the characters’ world upside down.

            And I think it’s because as much as we struggle with death, we know it is a part of the order of things. Sure, sometimes we might describe a death as unnatural, when a young person dies; when someone suffers a great deal; when a parent outlives their children or older siblings outlive younger siblings. But although these deaths are tragic, and although we always grieve when loved ones die, deaths are a part of life. We expect it, really. Death, grieving, suffering, sorrow. Sometimes death happens more suddenly then others. But we all die. That reality is even how we began the season of Lent – with Ash Wednesday – a sign of our mortality right on our foreheads. As much as a love my grandparents – my grandmother died about a year ago, and my grandfather died about fifteen year ago – and I still grieve their loss – can still be brought to tears when a memory or wistfulness catches me off guard – I know it wouldn’t be right, wouldn’t make sense for them to be back in this place, this world, this lifetime.

            So it challenges us – Easter – if we let ourselves really think about it. There is such a huge difference between being returned and being resurrected. We’re here today not because of a return, a resuscitation. Not because Jesus has appeared again to just go about business as usual. Like he was away for a few days and has now returned and he’ll just start preaching and teaching and healing again. No, we’re here because we’re celebrating a resurrection. Jesus was dead and he is alive. Not just reanimated, but resurrected. He’s not just alive again or alive still after all. He’s been resurrected. It means literally a “rising up.” He’s not just alive but living and new. Resurrected. I wonder if we can understand what it means to have resurrection.

In John’s gospel, we read that Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb, and sees that the stone in front of Jesus’ tomb has been removed. Upset, she runs to get Peter and another disciple. They come to the tomb and see that Jesus is not there, and they return home. They don’t seem to react, at least not that we’re told. But Mary stays, and she encounters Jesus, although she doesn’t recognize him at first. But when he speaks her name, Mary realizes that it is Jesus. He sends her to tell the others, and she does, saying, “I have seen the Lord.”

I keep coming back to a strange verse tucked in this Easter story. Jesus tells Mary, “Don’t hold on to me.” Don’t cling to me. Don’t keep me here. The phrase in Latin for these words is Noli Me Tangere, and this moment is often depicted in artwork titled with the same phrase. Don’t hold on to me. It seems like a strange thing for Jesus to say. How could Mary help but want to cling to him? But it is as if he is saying: “I’m not the same. I’m different. And I can’t be bound anymore.” You can’t “keep” me. Something that’s been resurrected can’t be kept. Something with so much new life that it concurs even death is meant to be on the move, living, rising up.

            This morning, at our sunrise service, I shared a reflection from Mary Magdalene’s point of view, based on Luke’s account of the resurrection. In Luke’s account, God’s messengers tell Mary and other women who have come to the tomb, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” In my reflection, Mary challenges us to consider exactly that. “Stop looking for Jesus among the dead. He is with the living. He is along the road as you travel from place to place. Look for him. He is there. He is at table with you, when you break bread. Look for him. He is there. He is in your home, at your workplace, at the marketplace, and everywhere you are. Look for him, He is there.”

            This Easter, I want us make sure what we’re seeking after in our own lives is resurrection, not resuscitation or reviving or returning. That’s not new life. That’s just continuing on. See, I think we get ourselves caught. First, we aren’t ready to die. But you can’t have resurrection without death. No resurrection without the crucifixion. And so we need to seek out the parts of our lives that need to die, so that Christ can live in us, draw new life from us. We’re afraid to let go of the life we know, and if we can’t do that, the best we’ll ever get is a resuscitation, a return, not a resurrection. What in you needs to die so that you can live? And second, when we do let God resurrect us, make us new, we need to look around, and make sure that we’re seeking Jesus among the living. We can’t just stay where we’ve been, surrounded by death. We can’t just hold on to what we’ve known. We can’t be bound. We serve a living God, a God who is always on the move. Seek out Christ among the living. After all, who looks for the living among the dead? It seems almost foolish, doesn’t it? So if we’re living, made new in Christ Jesus, claiming the promise of resurrection, let’s get going.

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed.

Amen.

A Sung Communion Liturgy for Maundy Thursday/The Season of Lent

A Sung Communion Liturgy for Maundy Thursday/The Season of Lent

(Tune: RESTORATION)

Lift your hearts to God your maker.

Lift your hearts unto the Lord!

Let us thank God! Let us praise God:

God of mercy, love and power!

Let us gather at the table

Hearts uplifted, hands outstretched

This, the table of thanksgiving

Cup of blessing, bread of life

From the dust we were created

God gave us the breath of life

But we wandered from God’s Presence

Bound for pain and grief and strife

Let us gather at the table

Hearts uplifted, hands outstretched

This, the table of thanksgiving

Cup of blessing, bread of life

God sought us through law and prophet

Called to us throughout the years

We rejected, lost in wilderness

God called us but we would not hear.

Holy, Holy, God Almighty,

Holy God we sing your praise!

All creation’s filled with glory!  

Glory in the highest!

In good time God sent a Savior

God’s own son, a gift for all.

For our sake he bore our burdens

Listen, sinner, to the call!

Let us gather at the table

Hearts repentant, sins confessed

This, the table of forgiveness

Cup of blessing, bread of life

On this night we recall the supper

Jesus shared with dearest friends

Knowing they’d deny, betray him

Still, he gave this holy gift

We remember bread that’s broken

We remember cup outpoured

Christ has died but Christ is risen

Christ will come to us again!

On these gifts, pour out Your Spirit

Make these gifts become for us

Body, blood of Christ who loves us

By his life, we are redeemed.

By Your Spirit we’re united,

In this meal we are made one

God, we thank You! God, we praise You!

Cup of blessing, bread of life

Come, now, sinners, poor and needy,

Weak and wounded, sick and sore;

Jesus gives his life to save you,

Full of pity, love, and power.

We will arise and go to Jesus;

He will embrace us in his arms

At the table of our Savior,

O there are ten thousand charms!

God we thank you for the mystery

As you give yourself to us!

We are blessed and we are strengthened

In the name of Jesus Christ.

We will arise and go to serve you

Blessed by what we’ve shared tonight

At the table of our Savior

God, you’ve given us new life!

Text: Rev. Beth Quick, 2014.
Adapted text in vs. 7-8 based on text by Joseph Heart,
“Come, Ye Sinners, Poor and Needy”

Permission is given for free use of this hymn text with author attribution.

 

A Sung Communion Liturgy for Maundy Thursday/The Season of Lent by Rev. Beth Quick is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. 

Sermon, "24 Hours that Changed the World: Jesus, Barabbas, and Pilate," Mark 15:1-15

Sermon 3/30/14

Mark 15:1-15

24 Hours that Changed the World: Jesus, Barabbas, and Pilate

I’ve always found Pontius Pilate to be a fascinating biblical figure. It’s strange, isn’t it, that while the twelve disciples spent three years of their lives with Jesus, we know so very little about them. Sure, we know a lot about Peter. But what about Bartholomew or Thaddeus? The Bible says almost nothing about them. Meanwhile, Pontius Pilate spent just a short time with Jesus on one day, and yet we hear more from Pilate than we do half the disciples. 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. He’s mentioned in only a couple other historical sources from the time, and just briefly. 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 Mark’s account, on which we focus today, Pilate questions 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. When questioned by the Sanhedrin, Jesus identified as the Messiah. But before Pilate, the one who actually has power to sentence him to death, Jesus says nothing.

Pilate then offers to release a prisoner – Barabbas. The gospel of Matthew tells us that Barabbas was called “Jesus Barabbas.” Mark tells us that Barabbas was a man who was in prison with other rebels, convicted of murder and insurrection. In other words, he had been part of a violent attempt to overthrow the government. This Jesus – Jesus Barabbas – seems to have been part of exactly the kind of revolutionary overthrow of Rome that some were hoping Jesus of Nazareth would lead. Mark tells us, too, that Pilate thinks Jesus has been handed over to him because the religious leaders are jealous of Jesus' authority and popularity with the people. 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, spurred on by the chief priests, for the release of Barabbas and begin to chant for Jesus’ death – “Crucify him!” “Why?” Pilate seems perplexed. “What evil has he done?” “Crucify him!” they insist. Pilate, we read, “wishing to satisfy the crowd,” finally gives in. In Matthew, we read that Pilate was afraid that if he didn’t concede, the people would have rioted, so he takes some water and washes his hands before the crowd, saying, perhaps hoping it would be true, “I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to it yourselves.” Pilate releases Barabbas, as the people requested, has Jesus flogged – we’re not even sure why – and hands him over to be crucified.

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? Did Pilate believe Jesus should have gone free? Who, ultimately, is responsible for Jesus’ death? Could Pilate have taken a stronger stand? Wasn’t he in charge?

Just before Lent began, we read from Mark about Jesus asking people, “Who do you say I am?” I find myself wondering, reading about Jesus’ trial before Pilate: 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 the gospels 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 sees that Jesus is unwilling to argue with him over accusations and frantically defend himself. He seems baffled by the vitriol directed at Jesus. 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 wants to show himself an effective leader – and he chooses to do that by seeking to satisfy the crowds. That might be strategic, but discarding justice for the sake of appeasing an angry mob isn’t leadership so much as cowardice. 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. Last week and this week we’ve been raising funds for Vera House’s white ribbon campaign, which particularly focuses on Men Leading the Way to eliminate violence and abuse against women and children. The campaign particularly emphasizes that staying silent when you are aware of abuse is not an option. It makes you part of the problem, in fact. 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. But beyond the requirements of the law, our beliefs, as people of faith, as human beings who care for one another – our beliefs should impact our actions, right? Abuse is unacceptable, and we will not stay silent about it.

Or think of election cycles. One question I think voters often 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. A candidate tries to appeal to liberal or conservative voters during primaries, but then during a general election, they’re criticized for distancing themselves from previous actions and statements when they’re trying to appeal to a broader base of people. Voters want to know: Is this what the candidate really believes? Or is the person just saying what he or she thinks I want to hear?

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? “Wishing to satisfy the crowd” – how often could that description be applied to our actions? Who is it we want our actions to please?

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?

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 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 will your answer change your life? Amen.

Sermon, "24 Hours that Changed the World: Condemned by the Righteous," Mark 14:53-55, 60-72

Sermon 3/23/2014

Mark 14:53-55, 60-72

24 Hours that Changed the World: Condemned by the Righteous

            We continue, today, following Jesus through the last 24 hours of his life on earth, 24 hours that changed the world. First, we started with the Last Supper. Last week, we spent time with Jesus, Peter, James, and John, in the garden, as Jesus anguished. Now, we find Jesus arrested, having been betrayed by Judas. He’s brought to trial by the Sanhedrin. Meanwhile, Peter, confronted about his association with Jesus, denies, three times, ever knowing Jesus, just as Jesus told him he would.

            The Sanhedrin was a body of the religious leaders in Jerusalem who were appointed to judge in disputes among the people. Their origins trace back to the days of Moses, when Moses found he alone could not judge in all the matters that came before him. Sanhedrin means literally “sit together.” They were the ones who could try the king, extend the boundaries of the Temple and Jerusalem, and they were the ones to whom all questions of law were finally put. (Wikipedia) Although in the gospels we see them as enemies of Jesus, they were a body of incredibly respected, devoted, religious leaders. And they are looking, we read, for a reason to condemn Jesus to death. Why? Because he’s been breaking rules, repeatedly. Challenging their authority. Drawing crowds to him and teaching in a way that suggest that they, who have been properly invested with power and authority, have actually been getting it all wrong. He’s upsetting the whole order of things, and calling everything they think they know into question. Jesus frightens them, badly. If they thought Jesus was just crazy, he probably wouldn’t have posed such a threat to them. But since they can’t find a way to dispute his teachings, since he speaks with authority they don’t have or understand, they’re frightened. They recognize his power, and the power they would have to give up if they admitted Jesus was right. They’re afraid.

            Peter – I don’t know if it is harder or easier to understand Peter’s actions. The Sanhedrin weren’t Jesus’ friends, his disciples for three years. You could say, it wasn’t “personal.” But with Peter: he has followed Jesus everywhere, tried to do everything Jesus wanted for three years. But he’s afraid too. Not of giving up power, maybe, but of the authority Jesus seems to want Peter to take. Afraid, especially that continuing to follow Jesus will find Peter following a little too literally in his footsteps. Yes, he thinks Jesus is the Messiah. But what if claiming that results in Peter’s arrest, Peter’s trial, Peter’s death? Peter’s very afraid.

What are you afraid of? Adam Hamilton suggests in our congregation Bible study book that both Peter and the Sanhedrin do what they do because of their fears – because they were afraid of the consequences. Afraid of losing their power. Afraid of being condemned like Jesus if they spoke up. Afraid to act. Afraid to even object to the unfolding of events. What are you afraid of?

I wonder if, every day, we don’t live our lives shaped by fear, at least in part. Sometimes little fears – we like to call them “worries.” Sometimes we struggle with big fears – usually fear of major loss – of home, career, loved ones, our own lives. And our fears prevent us from living the life we believe, somewhere deep in our hearts, we should be living. I think the gap between the life we have and the life we think God wants for us is created in part by the fears we let rule us. I’ve shared with you before that the scriptures tell us “Do not be afraid” more than 80 times. I don’t think this is accidental, but rather, God’s knowing how much we’re ruled by fear.

One of my favorite passages from scripture is from 1 John 4:18-19: “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love. We love because God first loved us.” Perfect love casts out fear. Think of all the relationships in your life – of all the people you love. How does fear in relationship prevent you from experiencing perfect love? Fear of being hurt. Fear of hurting. Fear of a commitment. Fear of being vulnerable. Fear of not being deeply understood. Fear you aren’t worth love. Perfect love casts out fear, which Jesus demonstrates for us, even as he stands trial, faces death.

Finding no other testimony that would justify putting Jesus to death, finally the high priest asks Jesus a question he can’t really expect Jesus to answer affirmatively. That would make things too easy! “Are you the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed One?” And yet, Jesus answers, “I am.” I am. The defining moment has arrived. The moment of truth. And Jesus is condemned as “deserving death.”

We use the phrase “moment of truth” to mean a “defining moment,” a moment where it becomes clear what someone really thinks or believes, when previously it had been unclear, or when a decision is made known explicitly. For example, election day is the “moment of truth” on how the nation feels about political candidates, after months of polls, for example, only give a partial picture. A high school senior deciding between different schools to attend has a moment of truth when they have to make a final decision about where to go.

We also face moments of truth, personally, when we have opportunities to reconcile what we say we believe with what we actually do. We say that we detest racism, and we hear someone telling a joke that is racist. Moment of truth: do we speak up, or stay silent? We say that we hate it when people talk about someone else behind their back, but we’re presented with an opportunity to malign our nemesis to a friend. Do we take it? How much do we really believe what we’ve said we believe?

When Jesus answers the high priest’s question, “Are you the Messiah?” so clearly, so directly, “I am,” it is the moment of truth. It’s decision time. His followers, the crowds, the religious leaders – all of them, all of us – we can no longer pretend that Jesus is saying something else, that he’s making some other claim. He lays out who he is so clearly, and we have to react. The Sanhedrin certainly reacts – they condemn him, beat him, spit on him, blindfold him, and hand him over to guards. And Peter – Peter, earlier in Mark’s gospel, as we read a few weeks ago, said he believed Jesus to be the Messiah – but here Peter has a moment of truth too. When his own life is in danger, will Peter admit to being a Jesus-follower? And the answer is: No. No, he won’t even admit knowing Jesus.

And that’s the end of the story, right, for Peter? For the Sanhedrin surely, at least, right? The moment of truth came and they let fear rule their actions, and the end.

Except…

I appreciate the stories people have of the moments in their life that stand out as defining moments: There was a moment that they knew that they were in love with their now-spouse. The moment that one discovered they were to become a parent. A specific moment they accepted Jesus as their savior. Those are some important moments. But although less exciting, sometimes, marriage is the relationship over time. Parenthood is the unfolding of your child’s life. And our relationship with Jesus is a journey of two-steps forward that hopefully outweigh our frequent steps backward. In John’s gospel, Jesus describes himself as being The Way. We often think of this is as “the moment of truth” – we choose Jesus instead of other possible ways – a defining moment. And that’s certainly one way to think of it. But the “the way” in Greek means “the road,” “the path.” It’s something you travel on – it suggests movement. Jesus is the journey, a lifelong direction we try to travel, not just a moment in time.

In our United Methodist heritage, we understand salvation in the same way – not only a moment of truth, but instead, a life-long experience of stepping into the wholeness that God offers us – we believe that grace is evident before we even know it. We call that prevenient grace. And we believe that we have the experience of becoming aware of and accepting God’s grace – we call that justifying grace. And then we have a lifetime of figuring out how to live in God’s grace – we call that sanctifying grace. It’s the road we’re on, the way we’re going.

We know at least one member of the Sanhedrin, Joseph of Arimathea, eventually became a Jesus-follower, claiming Jesus’ body after the crucifixion and laying him to rest in Joseph’s own family tomb. He’s remembered as a saint. His fearful response at Jesus’ trial wasn’t the end of the story. And we certainly know Peter’s story didn’t end with his denial. Later he’ll declare that he loves Jesus three times, and preach on Pentecost before the crowds, and baptize in the name of Jesus, and be put to death because of Jesus. His fearful response was not the end of the story. Those moments of truth didn’t become the whole story, thanks be to God.

And so too it is with us. We don’t have just one moment to love perfectly in a way that casts out fear. God loves us perfectly already. And so God is not afraid to wait and love us as we see more clearly, know more fully, even as God so fully knows us. Thanks be to God, there is more to our story than our worst fear-filled moments of turning from God’s love, failing to love one another so fantastically, rejecting who God has created us to be, making of our lives less than the abundant blessing God means for them to be. Thank goodness there is more to our story as we journey on the way, the road, the path, following Jesus.

If fear has been defining us, catching us in those moments of truth, let it be for us just that: a moment. A moment that God, thankfully, doesn’t see as the end of our stories. There is no fear in love. And God loves us perfectly. And perfect love casts out all fear, moment by moment. Amen.