St. Barnabas Episcopal Lafayette Sermons

In the name of the God who loves us constantly and forever. Amen.

A man walked into a restaurant with a young ostrich behind him, and as he sat down, the waitress came over and asked for his order. The man said, “I'll have a hamburger, fries and a coke,” then turned to the ostrich. “What's yours?” “I'll have the same,” said the ostrich. The waitress returned with the order. “That will be $11.75 please,” she said. And the man reached into his pocket and, without even looking at the money, pulled out exact change and handed it to her.

The next day, the man and the ostrich came in again and the man said, “I'll have a hamburger, fries and a coke,” and the ostrich said, “I'll have the same.” Again the man didn’t even look as he reached into his pocket and paid with exact change.

This became a routine until late one evening, the two entered again. “The usual?” asked the waitress. “No, this is Saturday night, so I will have a steak, baked potato and salad,” said the man. “Same for me,” said the ostrich.

When the waitress returned with the order she said, “That will be $24.89.” Once again the man reached into his pocket and pulled out exact change and placed it on the table.

The waitress couldn’t stand it anymore. “Excuse me, sir. How do you manage to always come up with the exact change out of your pocket every time – without even looking at it?” “Well,” said the man, “several years ago I was cleaning the attic and I found an old lamp. When I rubbed it a genie appeared and offered me two wishes. My first wish was that if I ever had to pay for anything, I would just put my hand in my pocket, and the right amount of money would always be there.” “That's brilliant!” said the waitress. “Most people would wish for a million dollars or something, but you'll always be as rich as you want for as long as you live!” “That's right! Whether it's a gallon of milk or a Rolls Royce, the exact money is always there,” said the man.

The waitress then said, “One other thing, sir, what's with the ostrich?” The man sighed, and answered, “That’s my second wish. I wanted a tall chick with long legs who agreed with everything I said!”

In the 1997 Academy Award winning film, Good Will Hunting, there is a wonderful scene near the end of the film. It takes place in the office of Sean Maguire, a psychologist, played wonderfully by Robin Williams. Sean has been working with Will Hunting – a troubled mathematical genius – who suffered horrible physical abuse as a child, which left him scarred, both inside and out. In this climactic scene, Sean admits to Will that he too was physically abused as a boy. Sean steps close to Will, grabs him by the shoulders, looks him in the eyes and says, “It’s not your fault.” Meaning that it wasn’t Will’s fault that he had been abused by his father. Will’s eyes dart away and he says, “Yeah. I know.” Sean stays right in front of him and repeats, “It’s not your fault.” Again, Will’s eyes avert as he says, “Yeah. I know.” Sean does this several more times before using an insistent tone when he says, “It’s NOT YOUR FAULT!” At which point, Will breaks down and sobs. It is not until Will Hunting finally internalizes – or lets his heart acknowledge – what the therapist has said that he finally begins to FEEL the magnitude of the words.

It is the same way with God’s message of love for us. Think about the story of humanity’s interaction with God. God made Adam & Eve, put them in the Garden and said, “I love you.” They said, “I love you, too,” and they meant it.

After The Fall, (after they did the only thing God told them not to do) they hid and the next time God said, “I love you,” they averted their eyes and said, “Yeah, I know.” Through the generations, God repeatedly said, “I love you.” And the people always looked away and said, “Yeah, I know.” Occasionally the people really got it. Occasionally they really internalized the message.

The children of Israel were enslaved by Pharaoh and God said, “I love you.” The children said, “Yeah, we know.” But when God delivered them on dry land and they stood and watched as the chariots and soldiers were swept away by the Red Sea, God said, “I love you,” and the children said, “Wow! God REALLY loves us.” They understood. But no sooner were they in the wilderness than they forgot again. And over the succeeding generations, they never seemed to get it.

When Jesus began His ministry, He taught the people that God loved them and they glanced away and responded, “Yeah, I know.” But individually, Jesus touched people’s lives and they would say, “Wow! I get it, God really DOES love me.” Even as Jesus was touching lives though, most of the people still looked away and said, “Yeah, I know.”

God wanted so much to get the message across, that that’s why God became human – in Jesus Christ – to metaphorically (and in some cases literally) hold us by the shoulders, look us in the eye and repeat over and over, “I love you.” Jesus said, “Greater love has no one than to lay down his life for a friend.” That’s exactly what Jesus did. For us. There never was a moment in human history where love was more perfectly played out than that one. Jesus died so that we could live.

“Jesus said to his disciples, ‘As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love. I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.” In other words, love as Jesus loved, internalize and share God’s “I love you,” to us, and your own joy will be complete, just as God’s joy for you is complete.

Rather than trying to open up God’s undying love for us in words, here is an example of that love being made complete. This story was told by Sr. Miriam Brasher of the St. Mary’s Convent in Sewanee, Tennessee.

The scene is a courtroom trial in South Africa. A frail black woman, over 70 years old, gets slowly to her feet. Facing her are several white security police officers. One of them, a Mr. van der Broek, has just been tried and found guilty in the murders of the woman’s son and husband. He had come to the woman’s home, taken her son, shot him at point-blank range, and burned his body while he and his officers partied nearby.

Several years later, van der Broek and his cohorts returned for her husband as well. For months she heard nothing of his whereabouts. Then, almost two years after her husband’s disappearance, van der Broek came back to fetch her.

How vividly she remembered that night. They took her to a riverbank where she saw her husband, bound and beaten, but still strong in spirit, lying on a pile of wood. The last words she heard from his lips as van der Broek and his fellow officers poured gasoline over his body and set him on fire were, “Father, forgive them … ” When the woman stood in the courtroom and listened to the confessions of van der Broek, a member of South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (the tribunal set up to deal with the aftermath of apartheid-era atrocities) turned to her and said, “So what do you want? How should justice be done to this man who has so brutally destroyed your family?”

“I want three things,” said the old woman calmly and confidently. “I want first to be taken to the place where my husband’s body was burned to gather up the dust and give his remains a decent burial.” She paused, then continued, “My husband and son were my only family. So I want Mr. van der Broek to become my son. I want him to come twice a month to my house and spend the day with me so I can pour out on him whatever love I have remaining in me.”

“Finally,” she said, “I would like Mr. van der Broek to know that I offer him my forgiveness because Jesus Christ died to forgive. This was also the wish of my husband. So, I would kindly ask someone to come to my side and lead me across the courtroom so that I can take Mr. van der Broek in my arms, embrace him and let him know that he is truly forgiven.” As the court assistants came to lead the woman across the room, van der Broek fainted, overwhelmed by what he had heard. As he struggled for consciousness, those in the courtroom — family, friends, neighbors, all victims of decades of oppression and injustice — began to sing softly and assuredly, “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.”

In closing, let us again pray this morning’s Collect. O God, you have prepared for those who love you such good things as surpass our understanding: Pour into our hearts such love towards you, that we, loving you in all things and above all things, may obtain your promises, which exceed all that we can desire; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

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Did you hear the one about the guy whose entire left side was cut off? He’s all right now. We had a Rummage Sale at the church this past weekend as a fund raiser for the EYC. Many of you took that opportunity to go through your stuff and to find things that you weren’t using anymore, culling those things that were taking up a little more room than you wanted to spare. It’s a good practice to get into, organizationally and spiritually. In fact, I have a friend who is a priest in Michigan whose now bi-vocational track has led her in exactly that direction: she has started a small business called “De-clutter Bug”, and she says that she has found it to be every bit the pastoral ministry that serving in a parish was, and a good deal more satisfying for her. Heather begins her journey with her clients by asking what new vision they have for their lives that has prompted them to hire her. The visions, of course, are as different as the clients themselves. But in naming and claiming these visions of the future, she has them focus on the life of their dreams… and then asks how each of these things that they cling to fit into that dream. It’s a powerful question. As I was talking to Heather about it, I couldn’t help but putter around my den, looking at my overstuffed book cases and asking myself, “How does this book fit into the vision I have for my future?” Before I knew it, I had purged one whole shelf of books, and emptied an entire drawer. In the same way, today’s Gospel calls us to examine our lives, our spiritual goals, and to assess what is working and what is not. Now, while it may be very tempting to get fixated on some of the language here, especially if you grew up in a religious tradition that put a lot of value in the chastening power of the fires of hell, I’d like to invite you to look at it from a slightly different perspective. Jesus chose this metaphor as one that was familiar to the people he served. Everyone in his world walked past the vineyards from time to time, and they could see the vinedressers at work. In order to get the vines to produce as many grapes as possible, he had to be ruthless in trimming away the limbs that didn’t thrive, because with scarce resources, there was no point in watering and tending something that wouldn’t produce fruit. Withered branches would just make the whole vine falter. They were burned… good for warmth at least, But gone in one quick blaze of color and heat. In contrast, pruned branches were sort of shocked into rejuvenation, and the act of pruning spurred them into not only self-healing but more and healthier production, and allowed some of the plants to live on for season after season and generation after generation. This was not the sort of scenario in which Charlie Brown’s little Christmas tree would have been cher-bebe’d back to life. And some of us who love the underdogs and the orphans have a bit of a problem with that. It seems a little cruel, in some ways, especially if we are worried about those dead limbs that are tossed in the fire. Is that me, we wonder? Am I the dead wood here? Will I burn? After all, we are talking about metaphor here, we are not talking about an actual vineyard, but some of those fires of hell seem awfully real and awfully close. Most of us are keenly aware of all of those parts of ourselves we have allowed to fall into disrepair, to wrack and ruin. What if we are more damaged than good? Could I survive a ruthless pruning? I had a friend who said he could not stand to do any more therapy or self-examination, even though he was suffering in great emotional pain and self-destruction, because he was afraid if he was asked to change any more, he might end up with so many holes in his soul that he’d look like Swiss cheese and he wouldn’t know himself anymore. I think that’s a pretty common fear, and reasonable… to a point. But if it’s not leaving you room to grow, if it’s sapping your strength to attempt new things, and if your hands are so full of the old that you can’t open them up to receive the new… Maybe a good pruning is exactly what you need. Now, I should mention that my de-cluttering priest friend Heather had no intention of being bi-vocational When she became a priest, she had hoped to be a priest, only. She had a great many gifts for ministry. She is young and enthusiastic, she is bright and warm. But the congregations she served in Western Michigan Were aging and set in their ways, and she found that they Were more committed to staying in their comfort zones Than in doing the things that would grow their congregations. You can blame it on the economics of the region. You can blame it on the politics of the church. You can blame it on a clash of personalities Between the young and liberal and the older and more conservative Or differing vision or a score of other factors. You could talk about how unfair it was that Heather worked so hard To fulfill her dream of becoming a priest only to have Her congregations choose death over life. Or, like Heather, you could cut your losses, recognize that some things—even dreams--have a season And seasons have an end… And move on. Prune the desires. Trim the vision. Look to the future… And choose life. It’s not easy to let go of a dream and to look toward a new one. It feels sometimes like severing a limb. Have you ever thought about what that might be like? To lose a limb? For some in our congregation, it is anything but theoretical, whether through amputation or loss of use. For many returning from the war, It is a harsh reality. And for life coach Dee Dee Myers, It was the wild card she was dealt at birth. But Dee Dee (not the former Clinton Administration Press Secretary) Says God’s pruning has allowed her to flourish in a way She might never would have otherwise. Dee Dee Myers was born without the lower half of her left arm. She is one of twelve children, and the mother of seven of her own… Including a set of twins… And a set of quadruplets. She is a triathlete. And an ultramarathoner… which means she runs MORE Than the traditional 26.2 mile distances. I get tired just thinking about her. But the coolest thing I read about her was that she loves yoga. When people ask her how she does arm-dependent poses like “Downward Facing Dog”, she just shows them. But when her class began doing handstands, she was… perplexed. But not defeated. Slowly, diligently, and with a lot of help from instructors and friends she learned to balance on her one hand. OK, sure, there’s a part of me that wants to call her up and say, “Really, sister, you’re making the rest of us mere mortals look bad.” But then there’s that hopeful, Christ-driven part of me that says, “Wow.” Just “Wow. Isn’t God amazing?” And to think, I claim that I can’t get along without coffee in the morning. Dee Dee Myers could lament the raw deal she got. So could Heather. So could you and I, whatever ours might be, whether it was a burden we were given or one that we chose on your own wayward path. Or we could invite God to lovingly and ruthlessly Cut those limitations away… Removing them completely And burning them to ash so we never have to even Think about revisiting them again. You could allow God to grind them off, Sand them away in the streambed of faith Until you are smooth like a river stone, Polished and gleaming, maybe not a gem, But with weight and gravity and substance nevertheless. There are a million metaphors you could use, But one message that is plain: We are each works in progress. Always in progress because God loves us enough To allow us, to ENCOURAGE us to participate In the process of making God’s vision of the world Come to fruition in us. It may not be easy. It may cause us to suffer. It may feel like we are losing a limb, Or even half of ourselves at times, So much so that we wonder if there is any of the essence of me left at all. But like the man in the joke that opened this sermon today, Rest assured… In God, we’ll be all right. What new vision do you have of your life? And how will this day fit into it?

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

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In the name of Jesus the Good Shepherd, Amen.

There was a shepherd tending his sheep at the edge of a country road. A brand new Mercedes GL550 SUV screeched to a halt next to him. The driver, a young man dressed in an Armani suit, Ferragamo shoes, TAG Heuer glasses, Bvlgari wrist watch and a Brioni tie got out and said to the shepherd: “If I guess how many sheep you have, will you give me one of them?”

The shepherd looked at the young man, then looked out across the sprawling field of sheep and said: “Yeah, sure.”

The young man parked the SUV, connected his iPad to the 4G wireless network; entered a private uplink, scanned the ground using real-time satellite imagery, opened a database filled with Excel tables and algorithms, then printed a report on his mini printer. He turned to the shepherd and said: “You have exactly 1,586 sheep here.”

The shepherd was amazed: “That’s really something. You can have the sheep of your choice.”

The young man picked up one of the animals and put it in the back of his vehicle.

The shepherd looked at him and said: “Now, if I guess your profession, will you pay me back in kind?”

The young man answered: “Sure.”

The shepherd said: “You are a consultant.”

“How did you know that?” asked the young man.

Simple, said the shepherd. “First, you came here without being asked. Second, you do not understand anything about my business. Third, you charged me a fee to tell me something I already knew. Now I’d really like to have my dog back.

This is Good Shepherd Sunday. The reason it is called that can pretty easily be seen from the lectionary readings. In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus explains what it means when He says that He is the Good Shepherd. And today we get the beautiful – nearly universally known – 23rd Psalm, the psalm of the good shepherd. Shepherds and sheep, hired hands and wolves – all very meaningful to Jesus’ audience, but maybe not so much today.

When we think of shepherds, especially the Good Shepherd, we know what that looks like. In our mind’s eye we see the paintings and stained glass with rolling green hills and blue skies – or better yet, breathtaking sunsets. In the background are fat, contented sheep with snow white wool, lazily grazing or lying quietly in the grass. In the foreground is Jesus – with spotless white robes on, staff in His hand, and that implacable smile on His face that gives the combination message of, “be still and know that I am God,” and “I’m your best friend forever.” The setting we see when we think of the Good Shepherd is perfect – and perfectly idealized. You see behind all of that idyllic beauty is an ugly, even sinister undertone. And we do this section of the Gospel an injustice if we see the beauty without the other message – that the Good Shepherd would, and DID die for the sake of the sheep.

Jesus died – as He put it – for “the least of these.” Not for those who had power and prestige and held forth on grand stages, but rather for those who were looked down upon and hated by society. These were the sheep that He would leave the rest of the flock to rescue. And they were the ones He wanted the disciples to pay particular attention to.

Oskar Schindler lived out Jesus’ teaching on the Good Shepherd, whether he knew it or not. In the film, Schindler’s List, Steven Spielberg brings to the screen, Thomas Keneally’s book about a man who began his career as a war profiteer. Schindler curried favor with the Nazi party so that he could get government contracts and so that the Nazis would supply him with slave labor from the Ghetto in Krakow, where the Jews were being forced to live. Over time, the film shows a transformation in Schindler. As the treatment of the Jews got worse and worse, his empathy for their plight, and ultimately his love of them as people, grew more and more. Until finally, as the last of the Jews in Poland were beginning to be shipped out to the death camps in Buchenwald and Auschwitz, Schindler spent every penny of the fortune he had amassed, buying men, women and children and keeping them safe in the plant he owned. At the close of the war, Schindler told his group of survivors that they were free, and he bitterly mourned the fact that he could not save more of them.

Similarly, in 2004, the film Hotel Rwanda was released. Again a true story of a war-torn nation, Hotel Rwanda tells the story of Paul Rusesabagina’s attempt to save his family, and what that effort became. In 1994, the Hutus – an ethnic majority in the country of Rwanda – staged a coup, taking over the government from the ruling Tutsis – the ethnic minority group. As the state run radio station blared messages 24 hours a day, calling the Tutsis “cockroaches,” and inciting the Hutu people to exterminate them all, Paul Rusesabagina was faced with a dilemma. He was Hutu, but his wife, Tatiana was Tutsi. As Paul saw more and more of his neighbors being dragged from their homes, beaten and killed, he had to do something for his family and friends. Paul bribed soldiers to allow him to take his small group to the 5 star hotel where he was a manager. Because the hotel was owned by Belgian nationals, it became a safe haven (at least relatively safe). And Paul began to accept more and more Tutsi refugees from more and more aid organizations. Paul Rusesabigina risked his life on innumerable occasions, not just for his wife and her family, but for all of the Tutsis who were facing genocide.

The author of the 1st Epistle of John says, in this morning’s reading,

“We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us – and we ought to lay down our lives for one another. How does God's love abide in anyone who has the world's goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help? Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action”

Paul Rusesabagina and Oskar Schindler are dramatic examples of people who have “laid down their lives,” on behalf of the sheep Jesus talked about. Neither of these men actually died for what they did, but each was willing to do so – which is just as big a commitment. But does it stop there? Must we all prove that we would willingly die for other people in order to follow Jesus? Fortunately, most of us are not called to go that far.

But all of the genocides in history have had things in common. One of the biggest commonalities is that first people must see other people as less than human, then they can be convinced that treating them as less than human is acceptable – or even desirable. In Nazi Germany there was a propaganda machine that constantly bombarded German citizens with messages of the evils of Judaism and the belief that Jews were less human than the Aryan majority. Similarly in Rwanda, where the Hutu people were constantly bombarded with messages telling them that Tutsis were vermin, bugs who should be killed before they turned on the majority and killed the Hutus. Fear and hatred are powerful political tools.

It is the insidious messages of hate that always precede violence against a group. If we listen to and internalize messages that tell us that other people are “less than” we are; that they are so far beneath us that they surpass undesirability and reach the level of intolerability that allow people to contemplate the need to “get rid” of all such people.

I know that there is no one in this congregation who has ever given thought to exterminating a group of people because they were not like you. But I also know that everyone is occasionally guilty of treating people badly, thinking unkindly of people, saying things about them that show we believe people who are different than we are, of being inferior to us. And that root issue is exactly what Jesus was getting at.

If you believe that someone else is not as good as you because of their skin color, their ethnic makeup, the country in which they were born, their religious beliefs, the way they live their lives, or their sexual identity, you run the very real risk of beginning to see them as sub-human, as not being worthy of the same love that is shown to you.

Our baptismal covenant frames the issue this way, the congregation is asked, “Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?” And the response is, “I will, with God's help.” Then comes the central question. “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?”

And the people respond, “I will, with God’s help.” “So there will be one flock, one shepherd.” Amen.

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Do you believe in ghosts? Have you ever encountered one? I used to work in a refurbished Victorian home that was alleged to be haunted, and my co-workers and I came in contact with many things I could not easily explain. Later, I was getting ready to move into my mother’s family home, and as a cousin was giving us a tour of the rooms I hadn’t been in since I was a child, we had a very strange encounter. We were standing in the guest bedroom, talking about the closets, and one of the closet doors spontaneously shut. Now I should tell you, this was a heavy, solid wood bypass door on a rail. My husband and I laughed nervously and looked at each other. “You think your grandmother is haunting us?” he asked, as we slid the door back open. “Nah,” I said, “I don’t think Episcopalians come back to haunt people.” And we decided it was probably just the settling of the house on its piers as we walked in front of the doors. Then it closed again. More nervous laughter… this time a little more forced. We had not moved from the spot, so it couldn’t have been our shifting weight that caused it this time, and besides, it was much faster and more assertive, almost as if it were in response to our opening it. But we’re rational human beings, and so, tempted as we were to shriek and run, we decided there must be some logical explanation for what we had just seen. We opened the door again, and gingerly peeked inside. And there… in the corner… in the shadows of the closet… was…. My little six year old cousin, Anthony. So pleased with himself that he had scared the big folks.

It’s funny what we believe… and what we refuse to believe. I have no problem with the idea of miracles in general. I feel like I see the Holy Spirit moving on a regular basis in my life and in the world around me. I can get behind the notion of angels, though I have yet to recognize one. I don’t have a problem believing in global warming. I might believe in ghosts, though all the encounters I’ve had so far have been pretty easily explained by other, more mundane phenomena. I do have a problem with vampires, Of the sparkly skinned and Bella Lugosi varieties, no matter how popular they are in the media these days. And don’t even get me started with zombies… I just don’t see the attraction. I have no problem at all understanding and embracing the resurrection of Jesus… or of Jairus’ daughter, or of Lazarus. All of those seem perfectly reasonable to me as stories of the bible and eyewitness accounts of the miracles of our Lord. I don’t feel any need to explain them or to have them explained to me with a scientific rationale. Same with the parting of the Red Sea, or manna in the desert or a host of other miracles from the Bible from Moses to Peter. So why then do I have such a problem with today’s gospel? What is it about bodily resurrection that I have a hard time swallowing? After all, if the creator of the universe can make all of this out of nothing—ex nihlio—then how hard can it be for the creator to reconstitute a body? And yet… it trips me up. Maybe you have the same problem. Maybe it’s not this issue. Maybe it’s the Virgin Birth. Perhaps it’s the complexity of the Trinity that wraps you around the axle. Or maybe you have a hard time with the idea that no matter what you have done, you are totally and completely forgiven and redeemable… or maybe your uncertainties change from day to day. Only you know what your doubts are and where they lead you. But what if we put those on hold for now, and concentrated instead on the things in which we believe? I spent most of last week in Oklahoma City at the National Workshop for Christian Unity. It is a gathering of church leaders who believe that despite our many differences in dogma and ritual, we Christians have more that unites us than divides us. There were Roman Catholics and Methodists, African Methodist Episcopalians, Quakers and Mennonites, Lutherans and folks from the Church of the Nazarene, and many other denominations represented along with us Episcopalians, all there because of our common love for the Lord. Our worship was rich and diverse, and people sang and prayer with voices filled with conviction and passion. There was preaching and fellowship, there were seminars that talked about our common call to mission and our common problems of economic downturn and dwindling attendance numbers. There was, indeed, much that binds us, and passionate discussions of the sticking points that make us each cling to our own way of being Church, from the ordination of women to the definition of baptism and everything else under the sun. We came together this week to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the Second Vatican Council, which, though a Roman Catholic event, had far-reaching implications for many of our Christian denominations. Vatican II opened the door for dialogs and the sharing of worship in ways no one would have dared to imagine only a few decades before, fueled in part by the understanding that a world torn by war and the constant, looming threat of nuclear annihilation was not one which a divided church could transform into the kingdom of God. If we were going to make some miracles happen, we had better start praying together for them. And that shift, that small shift in the understanding that we might be able to become not bound by our traditions and our differences but empowered by them, was enough to get a sort of cross-pollenization going, and for some of us to begin walking more closely together in our faith and order. Now, for example, we can take communion and celebrate the Eucharist with our Lutheran brothers and sisters in the E-L-C-A. We are nearing an agreement with our Methodist friends and neighbors. Granted, in neither case did we start out too far away, but hey, it’s progress! And we have all begun to pool our resources in helping the least and the lost, which is really what our work in the world is all about. Is the work done? Not hardly. We have a long way to go, and there are changes in all of the denominations that make this work tedious and long. But while we were lamenting how slow this process has been, And that changes in our church communities seem to Be making us slip back into old patterns of denominationalism, we gathered at the memorial site of the bombing of the Alfred Murrah Federal Building, which happened seventeen years ago Friday, April 19th. We stood in growing solidarity and silence as together we experienced the exhibits, amid pictures and pieces of twisted metal and crumbled concrete, the personal artifacts of everyday life wrested from their owners by the misguided militaristic vengeance of an angry and sick young man named Timothy McVay. We walked with reverence among stylized chairs made of glass and concrete representing the 168 lives taken that day. One hundred sixty-eight men, women and children who just showed up for work, or showed up by chance or were dropped off at daycare. We listened to survivors’ stories and offered each other tissues, a gentle touch, a soft smile. For the most part, we did not know each other. Almost without exception, we did not know the victims or the volunteers and professionals who came to their aid that day, but we were all touched by them, regardless of their race, or their station or their beliefs. We were, as we toured the site of the worst act of terrorism perpetrated by Americans on Americans and walked among the monuments, brothers and sisters, linked by a tragedy that wasn’t really even ours. It’s amazing how something so horrible can yield something so meaningful to so many. Who would have believed that that could happen: This terrible thing, The amazing heroism of the community that sought to rise above it And to forgive its brutality… And the solidarity that grows from those who witness its power. Who would have believed it? A resurrection people, that’s who. Not just a Christian people, but a Christ-like people, of all faiths and denominations and of none at all. Because when it gets down to it, it isn’t what we believe from day to day that matters… at least not the fine points of it. It doesn’t matter whether I think there will be a bodily resurrection and whether you think Jesus is actually present in the bread and the wine. It doesn’t matter whether you think Mary was taken up to heaven body and soul or whether she was a Virgin until the day she died. What matters is how we treat each other, how we respond to each other, and what we do with the grace that has been given to us. Please don’t take that to mean I think we can earn our way into God’s favor. I don’t think we can, because I don’t believe we need to: Jesus has that covered for us already. Don’t think I’m saying your beliefs don’t matter, either, because they do; especially when they inform and empower you to do what it is that we are called to do in Jesus’ name, to feel His presence and to walk in his ways. But if your beliefs are preventing you from reaching out in love to another person in your midst… let them go. Those are the ghosts we should fear… The ghosts of prejudice, apathy and alienation. If your doubts are keeping you from making a connection to a soul in need, give them up. And if your long held convictions are holding you back from experiencing the love of God through service to your fellow man or your suffering sister, do yourself a favor and quit thinking so darn much. Quit looking for the reasons that Jesus can’t be here among us and I promise you will see him at the ends of your own fingertips. You will hear his voice in the cries of the weak and their sighs of relief. You will know his gentle touch in the hand that reaches out to you in mercy and in hope, as you break bread with him at your own table, and at this, His table. Do you believe in ghosts? You can, it’s OK… even the apostles did, But it didn’t make the complexities of life any clearer for them… It only made them afraid. Do you believe in love? Do you believe in grace? Do you believe in resurrection? Then you will conquer all fear. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.

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In the name of the risen Lord, Amen.

An old man went to the Doctor complaining that his wife could barely hear. The Doctor suggested a test to find out the extent of the problem. “Stand far behind her and ask her a question, and then slowly move up and see how far away you are when she first responds.” The old man, excited to finally be working on a solution for the problem, ran home and saw his wife preparing supper. “Honey” the man asks standing around 20 feet away “what’s for supper?” After hearing no reply he tried it again 15 feet away, and again nothing. Then again, at 10 feet away and again he heard no response. Finally he was 5 feet away, “Honey what’s for supper?” She turned around and stared him down, saying, “For the fourth time it’s lasagna!”

Every year during Holy Week and Easter, networks like: Discovery; National Geographics; and The History Channel, run programs about God (in general), and Jesus in particular. Often, the documentary programs have titles that hint that you might learn about the “real Jesus” or the “truth” about Jesus if you watch. A couple of years ago, there was one about Jesus’ early life didn’t really talk about Jesus as much as it talked about what it would have been like to be a Nazarean peasant who worked with his hands for a living; which is really all that they could do because Scripture is silent about Jesus’ life during that time. Programs such as these are part of a scholarship movement that started a number of years ago and seeks to understand, “the Historical Jesus,” that is, the man Jesus, son of Joseph the carpenter from Nazareth.

Now there is absolutely nothing wrong with any of these programs if you know what you are watching – someone’s best guess on a given subject – and as long as you keep in mind what Paul Harvey used to talk about as, “The rest of the story.”

Thomas, the twin, wasn’t in the locked room when Jesus first appeared to the disciples – that’s what John tells us. We don’t know where Thomas was, but we can safely assume that he was in hiding, somewhere else – perhaps too grief-stricken to want to be around the others.

This must have been a strange time for the Disciples. They all wanted desperately to see Jesus again and to find out that He had, in fact been resurrected. And yet, if they were honest with themselves, the last person they wanted to see was Jesus. Judas betrayed Him. Peter denied that he knew Jesus, three times! They had all run away when He needed them. They must have sat in that room and said, “So what happens if He does come back? Will he tell us that whatever happens to us now is what we deserve? At the very least, he’ll blow up at us, the way He blew up in the Temple, and tell us how we are hypocrites for letting Him down the way we did.”

But instead of being angry or hurt, Jesus came through the locked door and greeted them with, “Shalom,” “Peace be with you.” Not once did He say anything to them about their shortcomings. Instead, He told them that they had work to do and He breathed the Holy Spirit on them to empower them for mission. When Thomas met up with the disciples again, they were all relieved and elated, and they wanted to tell him about the Lord appearing to them. Thomas though, would have none of it. He said, “Unless I see him, unless I put my fingers in the nail holes and my hand in His side, I will not believe.”

This is what the Church used to refer to as “Doubting Thomas Sunday” and on this day we often talk about Thomas as if he’s significantly less than the other disciples because of this particular incident. Isn’t that interesting? We never talk about Peter as less than the other disciples and he denied Jesus – not only that; Jesus once referred to Peter as, “Satan,” because Peter didn’t understand Jesus’ mission. We don’t refer to James and John as lower than everyone else, even though they got in trouble with Jesus for wanting to be exalted above the other disciples. No. It’s Thomas that we pick on. We even call each other “doubting Thomas” when we have questions about things.

Well … here is the rest of the story. Here’s the part that is not available to those who only want to know “historically” about Thomas. You see, he wasn’t less faithful than the other disciples. Thomas was simply in a different place, both literally – geographically – and spiritually, than were the other disciples on that first evening when Jesus appeared. His personal faith included his doubt, just as ours does. Thomas’ faith had to be formed by his working with and through that doubt in the power of the Holy Spirit. And the same is true of us. We must examine our doubts and work through them in prayer before we can recognize our own true faith. Thomas said, “I cannot believe unless I see.” Then, through the locked door of the room came the resurrected Christ again. This time He appeared in front of Thomas, just as he needed, and offered to do exactly what Thomas asked, in order to prove that Jesus had indeed been resurrected from the dead. But isn’t it fascinating that after Thomas demanded to see and touch the wounds, when Jesus made that very offer to him, the disciple did not reach out and touch Him, instead he gasped, “My Lord and my God!.” Thomas needed Jesus to reaffirm for him that all that he believed was still true, and that is exactly what Jesus did and continues to do today.

The theologian, Paul Tillich said (and I have told you before) that doubt is not the opposite of faith, “it is one element of faith.” If one does not doubt, one can never really have faith. You see, it is certainty, not doubt, that is faith’s opposite. Those who are certain, have no need of faith. They know what they know and that is that. Faith – believing in something not seen – doesn’t enter into the picture, because they have certainty. I have certainty that the world is round – I’ve seen the pictures from space and I no longer need to have faith that this is true, in order not to worry about falling off the edge. Therefore, debating the shape of the Earth no longer serves a useful purpose for me.

The Historical Jesus movement is about certainty. In the 21st Century, where every new day brings another story of someone using science or technology to prove or disprove something we’ve long thought true, it only makes sense that people would want to objectively prove the veracity of the Gospel story. In this age of scientific certainty, we want to read that an archeologist dug up something in or around Jerusalem that shows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Jesus was the Son of God, the creator of the universe who became human to live among us and then died on a cross, only to be resurrected three days later, so that we might also conquer death. But that is not possible. That is not the way God works.

God knows that in an odd, paradoxical sort of way, if we found undeniable proof that Jesus was the resurrected Christ, it would probably be the end of Christianity (and if not all of Christianity, at least the Church as we know it). We would no longer have need of belief. Just as you no longer hear anyone talking about the shape of the earth – is it really flat or is it round – so you would possibly not hear anyone talking about Jesus if we had irrefutable proof that the Gospel accounts were true. Jesus said, “blessed are those who have not seen, and yet believe.” That is US! Jesus blessed all of the disciples who were in the room that day. He breathed on them and put the Holy Spirit into their midst so that they would receive that blessing and use its power to go into the world to do the work He gave them to do. But He has blessed us in that way as well. We believe in what we cannot see, and in that belief we too have been given the blessing of the Holy Spirit in our lives – the power of the Resurrected Christ with us on the journey.

The Greek writer, Nikos Katzantzakis tells the story of an old monk who, all his life had wanted desperately to see the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, built on the spot where Jesus was buried. He saved his money and told everyone, “I’m going to the Holy Sepulcher and I’m going to march around it three times and pray.” As he left to begin the trip to Jerusalem, he passed an emaciated man, digging roots in a field. The man asked where he was going and the monk replied, “To Jerusalem to see the Holy Sepulcher. I’m going to march around it three times and pray.” The man said, “that trip must cost a lot of money.” When the monk acknowledged that it would cost his life savings, the man said, “Father, why not march around me three times and give me the money so that my wife and children might have food.” And the monk did. That monk never saw where Christ was buried. Instead, he saw where Christ was alive and living – in other people.

All of the historical, archeological and sociological studies of first century Palestine and this quest to find out who the man, Jesus really was, are interesting endeavors. And I don’t for a minute believe that they cause anyone any harm. But I also don’t believe that they bring anyone closer to the risen Christ. Our faith – that is, the rest of the story – is not about knowing who Jesus is. Instead, it is about KNOWING JESUS. Thomas said that if he could see, he would believe. We believe and therefore we see!

Go into the world to love and serve the Lord and you will, through your belief in Him, meet the risen Christ in those you love and serve! Amen.

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Easter Vigil & Baptism Homily 2012

In the name of the Resurrected Lord, Amen.

There is a tradition of humor to begin Easter preaching – in celebration after the seriousness of Lent, so here goes.

A very religious woman, upon waking up each morning would open her front door stand on the porch and scream, “Praise the lord.” This infuriated her atheist neighbor who would always make sure to yell back, “there is no Lord.” The religious woman fell on hard time, and one morning the atheist overheard her praying for food. Thinking it would be funny, he went and bought her all sorts of groceries and left them on her porch. The next morning the lady screamed, “praise the Lord, who gave me this food.” The neighbor leaned out his door, made a face at his neighbor and screamed “It wasn’t the Lord, it was me.” The lady without missing a beat screamed “Praise the Lord for not only giving me food but making an atheist pay for it!!”

Clergy are often faced with questions out of the blue that cause us to stop and consider the basics of what we teach – and what we believe. During an adult education class at my last parish, the question was asked, “How do you define the word, ‘Christian’?” I turned the question back on the class, which brought about a lot of very helpful discussion. But in the end, I was asked again how I define “Christian.” Here is how I answered.

A Christian is someone who believes in the resurrection from the dead of Jesus Christ. With all due respect to my brothers and sisters of other denominations, I don’t think one has to invite Jesus to be our personal Lord and Savior. I don’t think one has to do or say a single thing in order to be a Christian. It is about belief. And by “believe” I do not mean, have no doubts. Belief is not the opposite of doubt, certainty is the opposite of doubt.

I believe that Jesus Christ was resurrected from the dead on the third day after He was buried. I cannot be certain about how it happened or what it looked like – I can even doubt some of the details of some of the Gospel accounts. I guess what I’m trying to say is, in order to call oneself a Christian there are no magic words to say, no particular ceremonies that have to be performed – rather, it is a matter of what one cannot do. No one can be a Christian and deny that the resurrection took place. To do so, makes Jesus a great prophet, a wonderful healer and teacher, or just a really great guy – but it takes away that which makes Christianity particular from all other faiths – the resurrection of the incarnate God from the dead.

So if all that’s true, why did everybody get these beautiful children all dressed up and bring them out in the dark to have water poured over their heads? Quite simply it is because baptism is one of our two principal sacraments, along with Holy Eucharist. Baptism and Eucharist are outward and visible signs of an inward and spiritual grace. In baptism we will take these three wonderful children figuratively down into the waters of death with Christ, and we will bring them out on the other side, reborn in the Spirit and made spiritually brand spanking new by the experience. Then we will seal them by the Holy Spirit – placing Christ’s mark on them, and we will welcome them into the household of faith. That’s why we do it. Not so that we can guarantee their entry into heaven – Christ showed us that that part was taken care of when He emerged from the tomb. No, this is about outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace.

Jesus Christ died on the cross, lay in a tomb for three days and was then resurrected and emerged from that tomb, reborn by the grace of God. It is that same gracious God – who loved us enough to send the only begotten Son to His death for our sins, that we celebrate here this morning. Today, as you join in reaffirming your faith in the words of your baptismal vows, don’t just read the words. Let them sink into your consciousness. Take to heart what you are promising God on your behalf, and on behalf of those to be baptized.

In this Easter season, for ourselves and on behalf of the three beautiful children whose lives have just begun, let’s really commit ourselves to resisting evil (including the evil of talking about each other as if we were less than human); to repenting and returning to the Lord (every Sunday); to proclaiming by word and example the Good News of God in Christ; to serving Christ in all people (especially those we don’t like to see because they’re dirty or smelly); to loving our neighbors as ourselves (even if we know our neighbors don’t deserve our love); and to striving for justice and peace among all people (including Iraqis, Afghans, socialists and communists); and respecting the dignity of every human being, (including Republicans and Democrats, conservatives and liberals, and the TV pastors whose perversions of the Gospel make my skin crawl). If we can do those things, we won’t have to worry about these children gaining entry into heaven, we will create heaven for them – right here in Lafayette – where God always intended heaven to be. Amen.

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In the glorious name of the Risen Lord, Amen!

As I told you last year, I follow the Easter tradition that says that every sermon during this season should start with a joke – as a way to get over the seriousness of the Lenten season.

A young woman, fresh out of college began a job as an elementary school counselor and she was eager to help. One day during recess she noticed a girl standing by herself on one side of a playing field while the rest of the kids enjoyed a game of soccer at the other. The new counselor approached and asked if she was all right. The girl said she was. A little while later, however, she noticed the girl was in the same spot, still by herself. Approaching again, the counselor offered, “Would you like me to be your friend?” The girl hesitated, then said, “Okay,” looking at the woman suspiciously. Feeling she was making progress, the counselor then asked, “Why are you standing here all alone?” “Because,” the little girl said, “Duh. I'm the goalie!”

I love John’s telling of the story of the empty tomb. It has such wonderful details in it. Things like: Peter and the disciple whom Jesus loved in a holy footrace to the tomb; Peter losing the race, but still entering the tomb first; the other disciple looking in the tomb, seeing burial clothing with no one in it and “believing”; and Mary mistaking the risen Lord for a gardener. That’s the kind of stuff you just can’t make up. You just have to believe that the events really took place the way they are described here, because why would anyone add all of these strange little details, if they weren’t true? Why not just tell the story in a simple and clear way and let it go at that? As I said, I think the answer is because this really is the way it happened.

One of my favorite details of this story is that Mary Magdalene is the first witness to the resurrection – and she witnesses it alone. I love this part of the story because perhaps there is no one else in the New Testament who has gotten a worse rap than Mary Magdalene – and she deserves to be the first Apostle. You see, in the 7th chapter of Luke’s Gospel, there is a story of a notoriously sinful woman, tradition says a prostitute, who interrupts Jesus at dinner and pours ointment on Him, in a very sacrificial and loving gesture. Then in the next chapter, we are introduced to Mary Magdalene, whom Luke says had seven demons in her that were driven out by Jesus. In the sixth century, Pope Gregory gave a sermon in which he alluded to Mary Magdalene as being the sinful woman from Luke 7 and the legend took off from there. Mary became known as sinful, an adulteress, and a prostitute – none of which appear anywhere in the New Testament. But that’s what modern people “know” about Mary.

So it seems only right to me that she should also have a place as the “First Apostle,” the first witness to the resurrected Christ. John tells us that Mary was grieving after she discovered that Jesus’ body was missing. She had been there faithfully waiting at the foot of the cross when He died – when all of the “real Disciples,” the men, were hiding for fear of the Temple authorities – and now she had come back alone to finish the burial rituals for her beloved Teacher. When she saw Jesus she didn’t know it was Him. It was not until Jesus called her by name that she recognized Him. And then John tells us that Jesus’ first words to her were, “do not hold on to me, I have not yet ascended to the Father.” Artists have often portrayed Mary as having thrown herself at Jesus’ feet. That too would be a detail I could believe.

It is interesting the Aramaic word “Magdala” the name of Mary’s hometown, translates in English to, “elegant” or “great.” Mary of Magdala (Mary Magdelene) whatever her background was – demon possessed; woman with years of hemorrhages; notorious sinner; adulteress; prostitute; or simply elegant and great disciple of our Lord – most certainly knew what it meant to be touched by Jesus, to be healed, to be made whole, to be reborn. Mary had been with Him throughout His ministry and tradition says had been one of the primary caretakers for the disciples. She knew what it meant to be close to Jesus and to get one’s life back because of the power of God as shown through our Lord. Mary knew. And it was because of her knowledge of Him and her faith in Him – I think – that she was the one appointed to go and be the first to tell the news, “He is risen, the Lord is risen indeed.”

Christian counselor and author, Dennis Linn tells a story of what the resurrection might have meant to Mary Magdalene that day. A woman he calls “Hilda” came to into Linn’s office one day, crying because her son had tried to commit suicide and he was involved in drugs and prostitution and worse. She ended her list of her son's “big sins” with, “What bothers me most is that my son says he wants nothing to do with God. What will happen to him if he dies wanting nothing to do with God?”

Dennis Linn says up to that point in his life, his own image of God had been a reminder of his old Uncle George, strict and vengeful, all about punishment and consequences. So he thought, “God will probably send your son to hell.” But in the midst of her pain, he didn't want to tell Hilda that. So instead he asked, “What do you think?”

“Well,” she replied, “I think that when you die, you appear before the judgment seat of God. If you have lived a good life, God will send you to heaven. If you have lived a bad life, God will send you to hell.” Sadly, she concluded, “Since my son has lived such a bad life, if he were to die without repenting, God would certainly send him to hell.”

Although Linn agreed with her, he didn’t want to say so. So he used another strategy he’d learned in seminary: when you don't know how to solve a theological problem, let God do it. He said to Hilda, “Close your eyes. Imagine that you are sitting next to the judgment seat of God. Imagine also that your son has died with all these serious sins and without repenting. Your son has just arrived at the judgment seat of God. Squeeze my hand when you can imagine that.”

After a minute or so, Hilda squeezed his hand. Then Linn asked, “Hilda, how does your son feel?” She answered, “My son feels so lonely and empty.” He asked Hilda what she would do. She said, “I want to throw my arms around my son.” And she lifted her arms and started to cry as she imagined herself holding her son tightly.

Finally, when she had stopped crying Linn asked her to look into God’s eyes and watch what God wanted to do. And she saw God step down from the throne and embrace her son, just as she had done. And the three of them, Hilda, her son, and God, cried together and held one another.

You see, Mary Magdalene found that tomb empty because God loves us exponentially more than the person who loves us the most. And God loves us just as we are: beat up, bedraggled, broken and bewildered. That tomb is empty because God wants to give us life beyond life, life where we hold one another in our arms – now and always.

The Risen Christ appeared to a woman whose reputation would be dragged through the mud for over 15 centuries, because God wanted HER – the one who had been forgiven so much – to deliver the message that God was waiting for us with outstretched arms. And Jesus told Mary Magdalene and the other disciples to love each other just as He had loved them. So when God is holding out God’s arms to us, we should do the same for each other.

Love one another just as God loves us, because He is risen. The Lord is risen indeed! Amen.

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Will you just LOOK at yourself?

Sometimes…. Most of the time, to be honest, I cannot stand to see myself in the mirror. There are so many things I find to criticize… My hair, my wrinkles, my nose, my size, my shape.

I can’t help but compare myself to others. I don’t seem to look like anyone else… at least, not anyone I admire or find attractive. Even those things I recognize about myself that are similar to the people I love, My mother, siblings, late father, Are the versions of them I seem to like the least.

So I tend to avoid mirrors… so much so, that I find I am easily tricked by them. I always fall for the wall of mirror in the small room, or at the end of the Chinese buffet… And so I’m impressed by the expansiveness of the space or the offerings at first And then feel like such a goofball when I realize that it’s just an illusion. Still there is the magic of that hope… that excitement that there is more, just beyond my reach. But I can’t seem to see it when I’m looking at myself.

Interesting.

When I look out, though, into other people’s faces I have much less trouble seeing the beauty in the one that’s in front of me… seeing the hope, the promise, the worth. Maybe it’s that I know too much about my own darkness, And I’m afraid to look at it for what it is: My need. My want. My imperfection. My room for improvement. My need for forgiveness.

Ultimately, I think the problem is that I have an easier time loving others than I do myself. I know I’m not alone in that. And I know that it’s a problem for everyone who does. Because relationship is a two way thing. It has to serve as a mirror, reflecting what is offered on both sides, what is taken on both sides.

It must be looked at critically—and I mean that in the best sense, with honesty and concern for its continual growth and improvement. It must be nurtured and cared for, and that’s really hard to do if you can’t look those relationships squarely in the eye, know and recognize their strength and their faults and love them anyway. That’s true with any relationship, at least, any intimate relationship.

And it’s hard to get more intimate than the relationship you have with yourself… unless it’s the one you have with God. And God is really good at holding up the mirror for us, daily, in the external relationships in which we engage.

Ever notice that the things that drive you craziest in the people you dislike tend to be the things that you dislike in yourself and work hard to master? It’s that mirror God hold us for us that shows the reflection of who we really are.

Will you just look at YOURSELF?

In a few moments, we will kneel down before each other and we will make ourselves vulnerable. We will reveal some of our most tender and ignoble parts, our humble feet. They aren’t pretty. They aren’t fragrant. They are sensitive, with more nerve endings and ticklish spots than a great many more of the parts that we would more willingly allow others access to. But they are hardworking, indispensable, and common to each and every one of us.

So what’s the big deal? When we show our feet, we are showing our humanity, with all its ability and its competence, its brokenness and its suffering. Some of us will look down at them with embarrassment. Some of us will look down at them with indifference. Some of us will look down at them with curiosity as they are taken into the gentle hands of another and wonder how someone could treat them with such care, such love, when they are so clearly offensive.

And that is the gift of the mirror that God holds up for us today in our Maundy Thursday service. Because when Jesus knelt down on the floor by his followers to wash their feet, John tells us he knew everything that was going on with them… even their most interior, most intimate thoughts and desires. He knew of Peter’s love, and of his misunderstanding. He knew of Judas’ plans of betrayal and of the deep devastation it would cost him. He knew of Thomas’ doubt. He knew it all, and yet he invited them one last time into his heart and his final steps on earth in an intimate and self-emptying way. Jesus knew what was coming, and he knew it would be agonizing. But rather than protect himself and shut himself off, or pull rank and rise above them (which he had every right to do), or even to run away and avoid his fate, he literally stripped himself bare, and laid himself down at their feet in service, in humility, and in an act reflecting all the love and hope he knew in his relationship with the Father.

WILL you just look at yourself? Will you see how incredibly loved you are? Even in your shame. Even in your pain. Even in your confusion and your vulnerability. Even in your guilt and your complicity. Yes, especially in those things that the mirror reveals that shame us and challenge us to change and to grow and to love ourselves and each other anyway. Will you JUST look at yourself, Not with worldly justice but with God’s compassion, and allow the judgment of God wash over you like this cool, clear water, soothing away the stain of the world, refreshing your commitment to loving others and yourself the way that God loves you… not because of what you deserve, but because of who you are? It’s not worldly justice, it’s divine justice, and it is more gracious that we would allow. That’s what makes it so precious, and it is what the kingdom of God is really made of. Hold up the mirror. Look. Love. And live. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

In the name of God, Father, Son & Holy Spirit, Amen.

I read an article recently about popularity polls. The writer talked about how polls are snapshots in time. Polls, whether popularity or political in nature tell their readers what people think at the very instant that they vote – and nothing more. But popularity polls fascinate us, and they always have.

In 1966 John Lennon sat for an interview with the London Evening Standard newspaper, in which he famously said about the Beatles, “We’re more popular than Jesus now, ….” In fairness to Lennon, (and because I’m a fan) he had been studying world religions and wasn’t making the one-to-one comparison that people later thought he was. In his ensuing comments he had good things to say about Jesus, but not much positive to say about the Christian Church in England. But even so, the die was cast; everyone began to do speculative polls about who really WAS more popular, the Beatles or Jesus.

In 2012, with the internet available to us, we can conduct our own informal and unscientific poll and answer the question. Google “The Beatles” and you’ll get 230 million hits (in .2 seconds). Google “Jesus” though, and you’ll get 824 million hits (in .14 seconds). Case closed, Jesus wins – even if you take into account the fact that the Beatles recorded their last album in 1970 and only half of the members survive today and up their numbers accordingly, this is still a clear and convincing victory for our Lord.

In the time of Jesus’ earthly ministry, popularity polls took the form of assemblies of people. There was no internet. There wasn’t even a newspaper from which to get your information. So people gathered together and talked to each other, or listened to a speaker, in order to find out about other people’s beliefs, and to form their opinions. Today we read the story of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. At the time the crowd that greeted Him would have been unbelievable – like Woodstock. At that time, the usual population of Jerusalem would have been about forty thousand people. But during Passover, the time that Jesus came to town, the population would have swelled to as many as two hundred thousand, with all of the pilgrims coming to town to go to Temple. When Jesus came riding into town, He was a part of huge popularity poll. And His numbers were staggering.

What we don’t consider very often when we read the story of the Triumphal Entry though, is the fact that there had been another parade – another popularity poll – taken just a few days earlier. That parade took place when Pontius Pilate came to town from Caesarea.

Pilate was a Roman who had been promoted to the position of governor, and procurator in this backwater territory. Like most Romans, he didn’t particularly care for the area, with its strange religion and odd ways. But he did as he was ordered, hoping to parlay a bad assignment into a political career back in Rome. Because he was not happy with his assignment, and because he was known to be a cruel man, Pilate was feared by most of Judea. When his parade arrived, there was probably no one voting in that popularity poll except Roman soldiers – and truth be told, most of them probably didn’t care for Pilate either.

So the scene was set. It was Passover and the population of the city was five times higher than usual, stretching all of the food and water supplies to their limits and making everybody a little uneasy. Jesus’ reputation had preceded Him and the Temple authorities were not happy about what they were hearing. Jesus preached against the system they had in place that kept them firmly in control of the lives of all faithful Jews. Their position and power were being challenged and that made them uncomfortable. And Pilate came into town – a trip he did not like to make – so that he and his troops could be the Roman “muscle” to keep things calm during the Passover. And that put both the Romans and locals on edge.

Then, into town came this young odd young preacher, riding on the back of a colt and the adulation was unbelievable. People put palm fronds down in front of him. They laid out their coats so that his mount could walk on them rather than the streets. They greeted Him the same way they would have greeted a beloved king. And they praised God for His arrival.

Jesus arrived in Jerusalem and everyone knew who had won the popularity poll. It was not even close. Jesus was the it guy, He was the man. But remember what I said earlier. Popularity polls tell us nothing except what people think at the very instant the poll is taken. And no truer words were ever spoken regarding the crowd in Jerusalem.

On the Holy Week timeline that history and tradition give us, Jesus came into town on Sunday to shouts of Hosanna and prayers of “blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.” But by Friday, the same massive crowd was yelling “Crucify Him” at the top of their collective voice.

This story of the Palm Sunday turnaround; the story of being met with adulation and then being crucified, is the microcosmic story of Jesus’ entire ministry. As long as He was doing what the people wanted Him to do – feeding them, healing them, telling them that the Kingdom of God was coming for them – He was worshiped. But when he said hard things to them, when He challenged what they thought they knew about God, He was not so well accepted, and ultimately He died for what He said.

Jesus’ entire ministry was preparation for the time of Holy Week. Over the years of walking around Judea and Samaria, Jesus felt what adulation felt like. And He experienced rejection and animosity as well. Although He still suffered mightily through the time of His Passion, Jesus was well prepared for what He was to face during Holy Week. Are we?

We enter the church on Palm Sunday with a parade. We all sing of giving Jesus “all glory laud and honor,” and we wear our most festive attire and pull out all of the liturgical stops for the celebration. But in just a few minutes, we are going to read the Passion Gospel. We are going to find ourselves yelling, “crucify Him. Crucify Him!” Beginning with that reading of the Passion, and continuing through Good Friday, we will constantly be faced with reminders of Jesus’ suffering – and of who is responsible for that suffering.

You see, the Temple authorities were worried about Jesus’ growing influence over the people. But they had no power to do anything about Him. Pilate had the power to have Jesus killed, but he could do nothing for fear of the people rioting in response. It was not Pilate and it was not the Jewish authorities who were responsible for Jesus’ death. No. It was the crowd. It was, by extension, you and me. We are the ones who gave Pilate the power to carry out the Temple authorities’ wishes. We are the ones who voted in that final popularity poll, when Jesus went head to head with a murderer named Barabbas.

The question for us as we enter this Holy Week is: how do we respond when Jesus loses the popularity poll? Almost all of the people who formed those massive crowds of cheering people on Palm Sunday abandoned Jesus by Good Friday. Whether they were actually there yelling “Crucify Him!” or not, they were not there supporting Him during His time of greatest suffering. When Jesus got unpopular, they left.

Where are we when Jesus gets unpopular? When we have to vote in the popularity polls of life, how do we vote? Jesus versus the golf course. Jesus versus taking the kids to soccer, or baseball, or whatever. Jesus versus sleeping late. Jesus versus gossip. Jesus versus treating people as less than us. Jesus versus endless hours on Facebook. What happens when we vote?

Every year, during Holy Week we are given a new opportunity to vote in the Jesus popularity poll. It’s Jesus versus the modern world around us. His radical message of love of neighbor and devotion to God was unpopular then. And nothing has changed. What are we going to do this year? Follow the popularity polls and abandon our Lord, or go against the tide of popular opinion and stay as everyone else abandons Him?

The British poet, John Oxenham wrote something that might be instructive for us this morning.

They hailed Him King as He passed by They strewed their garments in the road, But they were set on earthly things, And He on God.

They sang His praise for that He did, But gave His message little thought; They could not see that their souls’ good Was all He sought.

They could not understand why He, With powers so vast at His command, Should hesitate to claim their rights And free the land

Their own concerns and this world’s hopes Shut out the wonder of His news; And we, with larger knowledge, still His Way refuse.

He Walks among us still, unseen, And still points out the only way, But we still follow other gods And Him betray.

Amen

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Lent 5B Sermon 032512 Jeremiah 31:31-34; Psalm 51 or 51:1-13 Hebrews 5:5-10; John 12:20-33

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

The legendary Episcopal preacher from the mid-19th Century, (and the man who wrote the lyrics for 0 Little Town of Bethlehem), Phillips Brooks, became the rector of Trinity Church in Boston, just as the congregation was ready to build a new worship space. I recently read that Fr. Brooks was deeply involved in the design of this architectural masterpiece of a church and his stamp is on many of its features. But there is one distinctive feature of Trinity Church that is only seen by those who are blessed to preach there. Inside the pulpit, where only the preacher can see it, are carved the words, "Sir, we would see Jesus." Brooks believed that, while most preachers are adept at telling jokes, speaking about current events and relating to their congregations, the thing that is missing from many sermons is what the Greeks sought in today's Gospel. People who come to Church and listen to sermons are people who are saying to the preacher, "Sir (or Ma'am), we wish to see Jesus."

"Seeing" Jesus. What images do those words conjure up for you? Do you think in concrete terms of seeing a 1st Century, transient rabbi, being accompanied by a ragtag group of disciples and hangers-on, as you've seen in movies? In those images, is He blond and blue-eyed, like Jeffery Hunter in King of Kings, or more middle-eastern looking, like Jim Caviziel, in The Passion of the Christ? When you "see" Jesus, is He the miracle worker; the one who can feed thousands with a little bread and some small fish; the one who cures lepers, and gives sight to the blind; the one who walks on water and stills storms; or is He the teacher, who tells people about the Kingdom of God and about how to drink "living water" in order to find eternal life?

The bottom line is that Jesus is all those things, and so much more. It is the "so much more," I believe, that the Greeks in the Gospel story were looking for. They wanted to "see" Jesus, but I do not believe that it was His face, or stature, or any other physical trait that they were looking to see. They wanted - as do we follower of Jesus today- to see the essence of Jesus; that which makes Jesus worthy of our worship and devotion.

The prophet Jeremiah said,

The days are surely coming, says the LORD, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah. It will not be like the covenant that I made with their ancestors when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt-- a covenant that they broke, .... But this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the LORD: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.

You see, at the time that Jeremiah was prophesying, the children of Israel had been conquered by the Babylonians and they had been dispersed around the empire, in an attempt to assimilate them into non-Jewish cultures and destroy the essence of who they were and what they believed. In order to fight back against this tactic by the Babylonians, the leaders taught the people to strictly follow the laws and commandments of the Mitzvot (the 613 separate rules contained in the Torah, which had been spun off from the original 10 Commandments). Jeremiah knew that throughout the history of God's children, they had never been able to follow all of the Mitzvot. And it seemed that the more stringently the leaders of the people enforced the rules, the less success the people had in following them.

So it was into this time of deep suffering, a time of exile and servitude, a time in which the old laws and commandments were absolutely necessary to maintain their identity as Jews, that Jeremiah prophesied that what God really wanted- what God really intended - was not that the people knew and tried to be bound by the Law; but rather that the Law would be written on their hearts - that it would become a part of them, the natural guidance system of their lives.

Sir, we wish to see Jesus.

Jesus was the prototype of a faithful child of God. It doesn't matter what He looked like. It doesn't real1y matter where He went, or what order things happened, or even who the other people involved in the stories were. What matters when we "see" Jesus is that we see God's Law, written on the heart of a human. And we see what that means for a life completely and properly lived. Jesus did the right thing, all the time, because The Law was written on His heart. But it was not JUST that. Jesus helped other people because The Law was written on His heart. But it was not JUST that. Jesus gave of Himself because The Law was written on His heart. But it was not even JUST that. Jesus lived EVERY moment of EVERY day as a child of God on whose heart The Law was written.

Seeing Jesus does not mean having a mystical, spiritual vision of our risen Lord - although that IS a possibility. Seeing Jesus does not mean imagining His presence and ordering our lives based upon "What Would Jesus Do?" - although that too is a possibility. Seeing Jesus means seeing what Jesus did, and how He did it, in another person - and hopefully within ourselves - and internalizing for ourselves WHO Jesus was.

One of the people of the 20th Century who most embodied "seeing Jesus," was a non-Christian, Mahatma Gandhi. Gandhi was not a man who was formally trained in religious matters. He was born into a Hindu family, but his training was in the law. When Gandhi took up the struggle against apartheid in South Africa in 1915, he began to be awakened by the power of God in the lives of struggling people. By the 1940's he had returned to India and was the primary force in working for peace between the warring Hindus and Muslims. In very real and concrete terms, Gandhi "sold all he had and gave the money to the poor," as he "picked up his cross and followed Christ."

Gandhi refused to respond to violence with violence. He refused to see bad people as all bad. He would not allow those around him to react to hard times in any way other than by loving people and trying to affect positive change. Gandhi stopped an ethnic and religious war, saving the lives of thousands, simply because the people on both sids of the conflict loved him so much that they stopped killing each other rather than see Gandhi die of hunger, after he quit eating in protest of their actions. Those who saw Gandhi saw Jesus in a very real sense.

All around us today we see people who are more interested in winning than they are in helping others. On television, there are 24 hour news stations that are desperate to fill time and keep people tuned in. And so they try to cultivate controversy at every tum. They pit person-against-person in screaming matches, and are then appalled when their viewers engage in physical altercations or shootings with "the enemies" whom the news personalities tell us are destroying our country. "Reality TV" is not about seeing someone's real life on television. Instead it is about putting people into situations in which the producers tell them to humiliate each other, try to destroy each other's sense of self-worth, and ultimately publically ruin another person's life for our amusement. And these descriptions don't even begin to describe how horrible things are on the internet, where people are anonymous and therefore feel free to say the most horrible things imaginable about each other, all the while holding themselves up as "victors" in some sort of righteous struggle.

Sir, we wish to see Jesus. We wish to see unselfish love. We wish to see care for others that eclipses care for self. We wish to see one who never trivializes another in order to put himself above someone else. We wish to see Jesus, who taught us how to write the Mitzvot on our own hearts. "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.' This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' On these two commandments hang all the (Mitzvot) and the prophets."

Sir, we wish to see Jesus. Amen.

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