In The World

Several items in the news recently caught my attention, all of them involving large sums of money. One was the loss of $2 billion by the investment bank JPMorgan Chase. Another was the initial public stock offering of Facebook, expected to raise $100 billion. That would instantly make Mark Zuckerberg, Facebook’s founder, worth more than $18 billion. In one day he would make more money than most African countries see in a year. If he were generous, he could give most of it to the State of California, which is over $15 billion in debt.

The JPMorgan Chase story falls under the category of “not again!” The chief investment officer bet that the European debt crisis would go one way, and it went another. Boom! The company lost billions, and she lost her $14 million-a-year job. “We made a terrible mistake,” the CEO said, adding that the bank was “sloppy” and “stupid.” Try using those excuses if you ever get audited by the IRS!

Such stories make us shake our heads at the greed of people. Secretly, though, I think many are envious of those who have so much money. Why else would state lotteries be so popular? The bigger the jackpot the more people buy tickets, ignoring the fact that the more tickets purchased, the lower the likelihood of winning. “Well, you can’t win if you don’t buy a ticket!” And if you do win, what then? You discover all sorts of friends and relatives you never knew you had.

Jesus didn’t deal with lotteries or stock offerings or JPMorgan Chase. We don’t really know how he might treat investment bankers, although once he chased after moneychangers with a whip of cords. He never did have a lot of good things to say about the rich, especially those who ignored the poor. In fact, when you come right down to it, Jesus said a lot of things about money that would make us uncomfortable if we took them to heart.

Jesus always had a different way of looking at things. That’s because he saw with God’s eyes. In the Gospel of John he expressed this by making a clear distinction between himself and “the world.” He extended that distinction to his followers. “They do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world,” he said. This was not an invitation to withdraw from the world, to wait comfortably for pie in the sky by and by. Rather, it was recognition that the life of Christians should be different.

One way this played out was in choosing leaders, as shown in the Acts of the Apostles. With the death of Judas Iscariot, there was an opening in the Twelve. Until Pentecost that number had to be preserved, so two men were put forth: Joseph/Barsabbas/Justus, a man of many names, and Matthias. After prayer, lots were cast and Matthias was chosen. (I always wondered what happened to the other. Did he, like vestry candidates who aren’t voted in, just melt away?)

This is a rather different method for selecting a leader than the long interviews job candidates usually receive. Should we return to choosing people by lot? Oddly enough, even churches that say they interpret the Bible literally don’t cast lots; perhaps it sounds too much like gambling. Or perhaps they realize that casting lots is only a means. The real focus should be on the process, on grounding decisions in prayer.

This Sunday we are in that peculiar time between the ascension of Christ and the descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. It’s a time when again we hear Jesus tell us what would happen: the Holy Spirit will come and witness to the truth already given to the disciples. Jesus will be gone in body, yet the Spirit will come to guide and empower the church. That Spirit will enable the disciples, and enable us, to be in the world but not of it. The choice of Matthias through prayerful discernment reminds us of what that kind of life should be like.

What a contrast this is to the ways of the world! There is no discernment at JPMorgan Chase, only the desire to make as much money as possible. Everyone wants to be part of the Facebook cash cow. The desire for what is not of God resides in us, too. That is why Jesus also prayed to the Father, “I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one.” Evil, however we understand it, is always present to tempt us away from God.

Unlike the Amish, we do not separate ourselves from the world, but rather engage it. At the same time, we are witnesses to another way of life, a way that puts people first rather than money. That way leads through the cross and beyond it, to resurrection, to the very presence of God. It is a lifelong journey, one with twists and turns, missteps and joy-filled clarity. We have the promise of Jesus that the Holy Spirit will come to lead us on the way. May we always follow where the Spirit leads, so that our hearts and minds may ascend to where Jesus is, and with him dwell in the presence of God.

 [Easter 7, the Sunday after the Ascension: Acts 1:15-17, 21-26; Psalm 1; 1 John 5:9-13; John 17:6-19.]

Abide in My Love

At this week’s staff meeting we talked briefly about Gregory of Nazianzus, whose feast day it was. I happen to like Gregory because I once preached a seminary sermon on his explanation of the Trinity. I really like his defense of why he ran away right after his father (a bishop) ordained him a priest. Gregory was overwhelmed by the responsibility and did not feel worthy of the office. I can relate to that. Indeed, “What am I doing here?” should be a question asked by anyone on track for ordination.

Feeling unworthy is not limited to clergy. It is a common human condition. For some it is a consequence of not being part of the dominant culture (i.e., not being a white male). Others grow up hearing they are not good enough, often in comparison to a sibling. Some religious traditions even emphasize unworthiness by teaching the total depravity of humankind or reinforcing guilt in order to fill the offering plate.

In the New Testament, “worthy” never has the moral quality we usually give to it. It has nothing to do with merit. Instead, worth is associated with receiving the good news of Jesus Christ and doing something with it. Christianity is not about worth or merit; the Christian life is all about grace. None of us is worthy of God’s attention, but that’s not the point. God loves us anyway and is ready to fill our lives with grace.

Perhaps that’s why John the Evangelist rarely uses the word “worthy.” Instead, he uses “love” over and over again. “As the Father has loved me, even so I have loved you,” Jesus says in John’s Gospel. “Abide in my love.” John is trying to communicate his own experience of Jesus Christ, one that lies beyond human words or comprehension. He is trying to explain who God is, an eternal relationship of love into which we are invited.

The closest analogy we have on earth is the love of parent for child. Through a godly coincidence, Sunday’s readings will come on Mother’s Day. Both mothers and fathers know what it is to love a child, even when that child makes poor decisions and suffers the consequences. Yet not all adults become parents, and not all parents are able to show love to their children. If no one loves a child, that child will never be able to form loving human relationships as an adult.

Gregory of Nazianzus understood all of this. After he ran away, he began to realize that none of us is worthy, none of us is able to do what God calls us to do. But that’s not what God asks. God asks for love, not worthiness, a return of that love which God first showed to us through other human beings. And God asks for faith, for trust that God’s grace will be sufficient for all that we are called to do.

It all happens because the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are in relationship with one another as though in an eternal dance. They are the Lover, the Beloved, and the Love flowing between them. It is within that love that Jesus commands us to abide. Living there, embraced by joy, how can our own joy be anything but complete?

[Easter 6: Acts 10:44-48; Psalm 98; 1 John 5:1-6; John 15:9-17.]

Listen to this as preached on the Sixth Sunday of Easter.

Pruned to Bear Fruit

Last week I talked about pets. This week I get to talk about plants. If I talk about rocks next week, we will have covered all of creation: animal, vegetable, and mineral. Of course, if you know that next week will be about rocks, you will probably skip this blog, so maybe I’d just better stick with pets and plants.

Sunday’s Gospel is about vines, grapevines in particular. Jesus obviously knew how to grow grapes. In a natural environment, grapevines grab onto tree branches and grow upwards until they can spread out all over the forest canopy. That’s good for them, but not the trees, nor anyone who wants to gather grapes and make wine. The ancients used to let the vines sprawl all over the ground, but that’s a problem, too, because rodents can eat the grapes and the uneaten ones will rot. So it wasn’t long before someone figured out how to grow grapes on a trellis. It was also discovered that if their wild growth was pruned back every year, the vines would bear better fruit.

That’s the basic idea behind the Gospel images of grapevines. The most delicate job is pruning, so it’s not surprising that God is the one who does it. Jesus himself is the vine, and we are the ones who get pruned. But what does that mean? Clearly it does not mean that we are cut off; Jesus implies that we remain connected to the vine. The Greek word “to prune” is usually translated “to make clean,” literally to create a place that has been swept. With grapevines, this means cutting the branches back to just a couple of buds, so that the vine’s energy is focused on a few big clusters of fruit rather than a lot of spindly ones. Applying that sense to us, God works to remove whatever is unnecessary in our lives, the overgrowth which saps so much energy that we are not able to bear much faith-filled fruit.

This almost sounds like a Gospel reading for Lent, as it calls for a disciplined life, one that is focused on God, on prayer, and especially on simplicity. The more we have and the more we do, the more God gets crowded out. Working toward a simpler life is a good idea any time, not just during Lent. It’s like charity appeals that suggest giving up one fast food meal a week and sending that money to a worthy cause. We can choose to reorient our time as well. God calls us to be good stewards of all that we have been given.

Yet Jesus is talking about more than just a simpler life, pruning away what is unneeded. He especially focuses on the connection between vine and branches. “Abide in me as I in you,” he says. “Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.” The word used for “to abide” is multivalent. Often it means to remain or stay in place, but also has the sense of endure, hold out, to stand fast against opposition. In the New Testament it contrasts the permanence of God with human changeableness, as in “God’s word abides forever.” John’s Gospel makes this use even more personal. Christ abides in us and we in Christ. It is only by remaining connected to the Word of God that we can produce the fruits of the Spirit.

Branches receive water and minerals when they abide in the grapevine. When we abide in Christ, we also receive nourishment from God. “Those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them,” John writes. The essence of God is love, an enduring, eternal relationship. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are sometimes described as the Lover, the Beloved, and the Love between them. It is into this relationship that we are welcomed when we abide in Jesus. It is out of this relationship of pure love that we produce the fruits of the Spirit.

What are those fruits? I always come back to the Apostle Paul’s list: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.  Most of these describe how we should treat one another. Jesus is clear about that, too. It is our relationships with other humans that reveal our relationship with God.

Next week we will read again about abiding in God’s love (not about rocks). It’s a message we need to hear often, that we are loved by God and called to extend that love to all whom we encounter. It’s a lifelong task, really. There’s always some wild growth that seems to come out of nowhere and demand our energy. There’s always a need for pruning. Yet if we abide in Christ, the love of God will continue to flow through us and bear fruit.  “I am the vine, you are the branches,” Jesus says. “My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit.” May we always abide in that love.

[Easter 5: Acts 8: 26-40; Psalm 22:24-30; 1 John 4:7-21; John 15:1-8. Paul’s fruits of the Spirit are found in Galatians 5:22-23.]

Listen to this as preached on the Fifth Sunday of Easter.

Dog Whisperer

I’ve noticed that pet people fall into two types. There are dog-lovers and there are cat-lovers. Of course, there are also people who like all animals and those who like none, but by and large, pet owners fall into one of those two groups. I’ve also noticed that dog and cat owners don’t think much of one another’s pets.

Cat owners like the independence of cats and their ability to take care of themselves. They can’t empty their litter boxes, but just the fact that they use them means that cat owners can be gone all day or even a few days without having to worry. Cats are curious and playful but only with the right sort of people. If they don’t like you, they vanish.

Dogs, on the other hand, are clearly pack animals. They like company. Dogs are very attuned to their owners, recognizing not only their voice, but the sound of their car, and any sound that has anything to do with food. Once when our dog Maggie was still around, R asked me for a plastic sandwich bag. As soon as she said, “I need a Baggie!” the dog came running to see what was in it for her.

The pack mentality of dogs and their devotion to their owner is the closest modern example I can think of to the biblical use of sheep and shepherd. It’s not perfect, of course. Unlike sheep, most dogs won’t run away from a stranger; they’ll bark at them. And somehow to imagine Jesus saying “I am the good dog whisperer” just doesn’t work as well as “I am the good shepherd.” Yet any worthwhile dog owner would do anything to protect their pet, including putting oneself in danger if the dog were threatened. So perhaps we can get some idea of what Jesus means.

At the center of Jesus’ discourse on the good shepherd is a remarkable statement: “I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.” There’s more here than a pet simply knowing the master’s voice. As Christians we believe that Jesus was more than a great spiritual leader, someone unusually attuned to God. We believe that Jesus is God, God incarnate, the second person of the Trinity, born in human flesh. So when Jesus says that he knows the Father and the Father knows him, it is a very intimate knowing, a union of wills and desires. What is astounding is that Jesus equates that kind of knowing with what occurs between him and his own – between Jesus and believers, between Jesus and us.

That does not sound like our lived experience. If it were, we would not yearn to know Jesus better, to be more connected with God. When loss or disaster strikes, we may even feel the absence of God, not God’s presence. We know how far we miss the mark of who God calls us to be. Yet Jesus says that we know him as well he and God know one another. How can that be?

The Apostle Paul provided a clue to this paradox in his wonderful hymn on love in the first letter to the Corinthians. “Now I know only in part,” Paul wrote, “then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.” Paul realized that we are already fully known by Christ. When we are sealed as Christ’s own at baptism, the Holy Spirit enters into us with the perfect knowledge of God, hidden in our hearts. Because it is there, we yearn to see it more fully. Yet in this life it is as though we are looking through a dirty window. We know that there is a beautiful view out there, but the dusty willfulness of sin keeps us from seeing clearly. Still, our hearts remain a witness to that beauty, to that presence of God within. As John wrote in his letter, “Let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action....And by this we know that he abides in us, by the Spirit that he has given us.”

In the end, it doesn’t matter whether we call Jesus the good shepherd or the good dog whisperer. Besides, we don’t really want to think of ourselves as either sheep or dogs, do we? What is important is that we listen for that voice. We hear it in silence; we see it speaking through others. It is the voice of Jesus that abides in us, calling to us in our hearts. We hear and know it. Let us ever run toward it, so that we may bear its fruit in truth and action.

[4 Easter: Acts 4:5-12; Psalm 23; 1 John 3:16-24; John 10:11-18.]

Listen to this blog as preached on the Fourth Sunday of Easter.

There's Work To Do

The mall’s Easter Bunny has put his costume back into storage. All of the plastic eggs have been gathered up from Easter egg hunts, their candy long gone. Stores are gearing up for Mother’s Day and graduation parties. Can Christmas shopping be far behind?

In the church, meanwhile, it’s still the Day of Resurrection. Every Sunday is a feast of our Lord Jesus Christ, as the prayer book says, but the first two Sundays after Easter take us right back to that day itself. This week two disciples have rushed back from their walk to Emmaus on which they encountered the risen Christ. As they breathlessly tell their story to the others, suddenly Jesus is right there in their midst. This time no bread-breaking is necessary for everyone to recognize him. They’re terrified, of course; how else does one respond when seeing someone known to be dead? They think he’s a spirit.

But Jesus is real flesh and bone. Resurrected flesh and bone, to be sure, but real just the same. He shows them his wounds and invites them to touch him. They are so overwhelmed and overjoyed that they still can’t get their heads wrapped around the fact that he’s actually there. So to prove he’s real, Jesus asks for a bite to eat, then nibbles on some broiled fish. Finally their internal questioning subsides and they are ready to hear him out.

What Jesus says is that this is all part of the plan. The Messiah is supposed to suffer and die and rise on the third day. He’s been telling them that all along, and they still don’t get it. So he opens their minds (a wonderful image) and lays out the scriptures before them. They are to spread the message so that all repent of what they have done, turn back around to God, and let God forgive them. “You are witnesses of these things,” Jesus says. Tell everyone!

Peter and John do just that. Peter heals a lame man and then preaches to the crowd that assembled to see the sight. He tells them exactly what Jesus had poured into his open mind, clear through the part about repentance and turning to God. John is more subtle. “See what love the Father has given us,” he writes, “that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are.” John, too, knows that this fish-eating resurrected Christ has changed everything. That fact should change us as well. There’s still a lot that needs explaining, but “what we do know is this….we will be like him, for we will see him as he is.”

Several themes come through loud and clear in all of the Easter stories. One is that this is all part of God’s plan. Another is that Jesus will arrive in the midst of fear and say, “Peace to you.” Those two messages we hear. Yet a third is just as insistent: “You are witnesses of these things.” It’s all fine and dandy that God loves us and that we don’t have to be afraid. But there’s no complacency in the Easter message. There’s work to do. It’s not a sit back and bask in the warmth of God’s love like being full of Easter ham and chocolate bunny. It’s more like Christ is risen, now get out there!

That’s the most threatening part of the Easter message. Work is hard enough, but when the work involves talking about Jesus, we’d just as soon eat that chocolate bunny, thank you. It’s especially hard in a culture that associates “Christian” with judgment, with condemnation of others in the name of God.

Yet we don’t have to stand in a crowd and proclaim Jesus like Peter did. We can do it ways other than words. In fact, Jesus provides us a list in Matthew 25 – feed the hungry, water the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, care for the sick, visit prisoners. Those things witness to the risen Christ just as much as preaching Jesus. And it’s also why we hear about Easter again and again. There’s too much to do to fit into one hour a week. In fact, we spend all of our lives living into the meaning of that one day. That’s the wonder, the glory, the richness of the resurrection. So get going! There’s work to do!

[3 Easter: Acts 3:12-19; 1 John 3:1-7; Luke 24:36b-48.]

Peace Be With You

Twenty years ago I preached for the first time, on the Second Sunday of Easter. It was a remarkable experience. In that parish it was unusual for a layperson to be given the pulpit, and I didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect. At coffee hour afterwards one of the stiffer members of the congregation approached me and I prepared to weather some criticism. Instead he simply said, “That was a good sermon – although it was seventeen minutes long.”

I still have that sermon. It was about Thomas, of course; he appears every year on the Second Sunday of Easter, the so-called “Low Sunday” (as though Easter is exhausting, not energizing). But it was also about the community in which the sermon was preached. Thomas’ faith was given to him in company with the other disciples; so too our personal relationship with Christ comes to us within a community. That particular parish, I noted, had a wide range of viewpoints (and probably still does), all of which were important to our collective understanding of who Jesus revealed God to be.

It’s often said that clergy preach to themselves. It’s true that twenty years ago I was caught up in the idea of Christian community. I still am, but in a different way. Perhaps that’s because one of the functions of preaching is to urge people to continue to grow in Christ, and each parish requires a different kind of urging. That first parish was struggling with decisions made by the national church which some people lauded and others rejected. In that context it was important to emphasize the importance of everyone’s views.

Now I would do the same thing in a different way. I tend to describe the Episcopal Church as a big tent that is able to hold a wide variety of ways of understanding faith. Sometimes a group in one corner of the tent discovers a group in another corner that they really don’t like. That’s when conflict begins. The leader’s role is to manage the conflict so that it becomes a means of growth rather than a cause for rejection. The goal is to have both sides accept the presence of the other while still disagreeing.

Thomas provides a model for that. For whatever reason, he wasn’t present on Easter Day when Jesus appeared to the disciples. So he does not share their experience of fear turned to joy, of being sent by the One who was sent from God. The disciples try to convince him, but he won’t be convinced unless he sees for himself. Sure enough, a week later, Jesus reappears. This time they are all together, and Thomas gets what he asks for and more, when Jesus says “Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas could have rejected the witness of the other disciples. He could have decided that they were all misled and left. Instead, he stayed with them and became a model for all who are tempted to walk away. “Have you believed because you have seen me?” Jesus asks. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

That community of disciples would not have existed unless it first had been called together by Jesus. It continued to exist because of the presence of Christ, a presence that initially came through the resurrection appearances, then through the gift of the Holy Spirit in word and Sacrament. In the midst of all of the fear and turmoil created by his betrayal, abandonment, and death, Jesus came to them and said “Peace be with you.” In the same way Jesus comes to us in the midst of our own trials, our own conflict, and says “Peace be with you.” It is not a peace such as the world gives, a capitulation of one side to the power of the other. Rather, it is the kind of peace where people who strongly disagree with one another can sit and worship together. It’s a peace that creates a big tent in which all are welcome. It’s a peace that reflects the unmerited love of God for a world redeemed by the death and resurrection of the Son of God. As William Alexander has written,
The peace of God, it is no peace, but strife closed in the sod.
Yet let us pray for but one thing – the marvelous peace of God.

[Second Sunday of Easter: Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 133; 1 John 1:1-2:2; John 20:19-31. Alexander’s poem is set to the tune Georgetown in Hymn 661 of The Hymnal 1982.]

Listen to this as preached on the Second Sunday of Easter.

The Empty Tomb

Every three years Mark’s version of Easter comes around for the Gospel lesson. There’s always an option for using John’s Gospel, and I wonder how many preachers choose John. Mark has the least satisfying account of Easter Day. There are no resurrection appearances whatsoever. All he gives us is an empty tomb. The women who watched Jesus die on the cross come to prepare his body with aromatic spices, wondering how they will roll away the big stone covering the tomb. They arrive to find the stone moved and a young man sitting there. They are terrified. The man tells them not to be afraid, that Jesus has been raised, and gives them a message to tell the disciples and Peter. Dumbfounded, they tell “no one no how” (the Greek is emphatic!) and run away afraid. Mark, as we have it, ends abruptly with the word “for.”

This was as unsatisfactory to early Christians as to us, so it wasn’t long before enterprising scribes added shorter or longer endings. Given the state of biblical scholarship in the seventeenth century, the longer ending became enshrined in the King James Bible. We now know that the earliest manuscripts of Mark ended at that “for.” That’s where Mark simply stopped. Whether he intended to go further is a different question, one that cannot now be answered. Little wonder that a preacher would prefer one of the other Gospels with their more satisfactory endings.

So what does one do with Mark? Take him as he is, to begin with. And what Mark gives us is an empty tomb. We are so eager to get to the joy of Jesus alive once again that we forget that the first evidence of the resurrection was the empty tomb. Some people never get past that – they say that Jesus didn’t really rise from the dead; his disciples spirited his body away and started spreading stories about his resurrection. That has never been very satisfying for me. I don’t know anyone who is willing to die for a story they know to be false, nor do the Gospels read as though they were written by deceitful people. They sound like the product of an event beyond human comprehension, like seeing the body of a crucified man transformed into something extraordinary.

If we take Mark’s Gospel as we have received it, then we must address the empty tomb before we think about resurrection appearances. The Apostle Paul gives us one way to do that in his letter to the Romans. He understood baptism as a kind of death in which we are buried with Christ and then rise again as we come out of the water (a better symbol with full immersion baptism than a few splashes from a small font). “If we have died with Christ,” he writes, “we believe that we will also live with him…The death he died, he died to sin, once for all; but the life he lives, he lives to God.” Passing from death to life is what an empty tomb presents to us. Death no longer has ultimate control, even though all of us will experience it. Death is not the end.

Although Mark has none, there must have been resurrection appearances. The fact that Christianity exists is ample evidence that the women eventually told their story, perhaps in response to their own encounter with the risen Christ. By the time Paul wrote to the Corinthians there was already a tradition of resurrection appearances – to Peter, to the twelve, to five hundred people at one time. Peter himself fleshes that out: “God raised [Jesus] on the third day and allowed him to appear, not to all people but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses, and who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead.”

Rising from the dead creates a lot of skepticism. We have a tendency to think that we scientific moderns know better than those primitive peoples. But the ancients knew perfectly well that no one rises from the dead. Paul got pushback in Athens when he proclaimed the resurrection and created chaos in the Jewish council for the same thing. No, this must have been something different, something totally unexpected, something real. The fact that the story is always told from the perspective of women is remarkable. If it had been created to deceive people, no one would think of using witnesses that were not credible in the ancient world.

Taken together, the empty tomb and the resurrection appearances require a different worldview, one in which life overcomes death, where the rich and powerful, the Caesars and Herods of the world, do not have the last word. That in itself is part of the Christian hope. Yet there is hope for all of us, not just those who suffer under cruel governments. When the young man in the white robe says, “Tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee,” it means that even those who abandoned Jesus will be brought back. Mark adds “and Peter” – Peter, the one who said he would die with Jesus and then denied him three times, even Peter will be reconciled to Jesus.

If Peter can be reconciled, so can we. That’s the great promise that we are given at Easter. It’s a promise that is greater than death being overcome at the empty tomb, greater than fear turned to joy at the sight of the resurrected Christ. It’s the promise that nothing, not death, nor life, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will ever be able to separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord.


[Easter: Mark 16:1-8. The Great Vigil of Easter also includes Romans 6:3-11; Easter Day itself includes Acts 10:34-43 and 1 Corinthians 15:1-11.]

Listen to this as preached on Easter Day.