The Unexpected Neighbor

This story isn’t about the lack of action by the priest and the Levite – rather, it’s meant to help us broaden our understanding of neighbor. Particularly if we’re the guy in the ditch.

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Luke 10:25-37

²⁵Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” ²⁶He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” ²⁷He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” ²⁸And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.” ²⁹But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” ³⁰Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. ³¹Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. ³²So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. ³³But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. ³⁴He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. ³⁵The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ ³⁶Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” ³⁷He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

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Dear people of God, grace to you and peace this day from our loving God through Christ who bids us to go and do likewise.  Amen.

This Parable of the Good Samaritan is right up there with the Parable of the Prodigal Son in terms of the Big (albeit short) Stories of Jesus.  Even if you’ve never been in a church, you’ve probably heard some variation of one or both of these stories.

Now I’ve always heard the story of the Good Samaritan explained like this: the priest and the levite who passed by the man are supposedly passing by him so that they don’t become ritually unclean. The third man stops, and because he is a Samaritan, he has no worry about such cleanliness.

But I’ve been reading some wonderful words of the theologian Amy-Jill Levine. She is a Jewish New Testament scholar. Now that may sound a little odd, but I commend her work to you. It is really amazing.

Ms. Levine points out that the priest and Levite were going along the road to Jericho, not Jerusalem. So they weren’t going to perform priestly duties or anything of the kind. Becoming ritually unclean wasn’t at issue. Furthermore, she says, “Jews would have expected fellow Jews to attend not only to victims of attack, but to unburied corpses.”

But the real transformative words that she brings to this text are that Jesus intends for us to hear this story focused not on the priest and the Levite, but on the Samaritan as well as the man who was beaten by robbers. Here’s why.

To the man in the ditch, the Samaritan is basically his worst enemy. This man has been taught from early childhood to hate Samaritans. Samaritans and Israelites don’t get along. Kind of like the Hatfields and the McCoys.

So for us today, look at it from that perspective: it’s your mortal enemy that’s approaching you when you’re in need. Is he going to kill you or help you?

Those of you who are musical theater lovers might remember the song from the musical South Pacific called “You’ve Got To Be Taught.” It is sung by Lieutenant Ccable when he realizes that as much as he loves the Tonkinese girl Liat, he could not possibly marry her and bring her back to his Midwestern hometown. To be blunt: she would not be safe, not at all.  He can’t bring himself to subject this woman he loves so much to such hatred.

With no small amount of bitterness, he sings:  you’ve got to be taught to hate and fear/ you’ve got to be taught from year to year/ it’s got to be drummed in your dear little ear/ you’ve got to be carefully taught.  You’ve got to be taught before it’s too late/ before you are six or seven or eight/ to hate all the people your relatives hate/ You’ve got to be carefully taught.

I should note that Oscar Hammerstein II wrote those lyrics for a musical that premiered in 1949. It won the Pulitzer Prize, but its creators also endured quite a lot of backlash because of that song, and for the shows willingness to confront issues of race.

So considering our gospel lesson, Amy Jill Levine points out that Jesus uses this story to teach people about the -isms of their time. Certainly the way they treated Samaritans was a form of racism.

Doesn’t this perspective place this gospel story squarely into the category of teaching against?  And not just teaching against racism, but against sexism? Homophobia? Against all the other -isms that hold us back from truly realizing the reign of God?

The idea of being confronted with one’s “mortal enemy “ who has come to help brings to mind that distrust of Samaritans was taught, it was part of the culture of the community. Isn’t Jesus confronting the institutionalized racism of his day in the telling of this parable?

It’s not about those who passed by. It’s about the one who stopped to help, the breaking down of barriers to connecting with people, especially those labeled as “the other.”

Put yourself in the place of the injured man for a moment.  You are injured and hurting, and you hear people pass by you as if you didn’t exist.  Then someone comes alongside you and begins to help you.  You look up – and it’s the very last person you could ever imagine, or even stand, to be helping you.

And this person does far more than just say “I’ll call the police.”  This person brings a first aid kit from their car and begins to treat your wounds.  Once the paramedics arrive, this person goes with you to the emergency room and makes sure that the intake desk knows that they are to bill all costs to them, not you.

And a few days later, when you are on another floor recovering, this person stops by the hospital to visit you and make sure you are going to be ok.

This person – that you thought you hated.

This is a theme that makes for extraordinary cinema.  I’m thinking of the movie Philadelphia, where Denzel Washington’s journey from homophobe to ally is traced as he represents his gay client who was fired for having AIDS.

And the movie “As Good As It Gets” where Jack Nicholson, in peak obnoxious form, plays a character who is truly despicable – but who is somehow moved to care for his gay neighbor who is beaten up, and provide top-level medical care for the child of a waitress at the diner he frequents.  These actions begin a journey of his transformation.

I agree with Amy-Jill Levine.  I do think this is what Jesus is teaching here: that when we continue to perpetuate the biases, the bigotry and hatred we’ve been taught, we stand in the way of God.  But when we release all of those things, when we step out of our comfort zones and into the places where we must rely on God, then things will happen.  The Spirit’s winds will blow.

In our story, Jesus asks the lawyer “who was neighbor to the man?”  And the lawyer responds “the one who showed him mercy.”

The one he’d been taught to hate.

THAT guy.

I like to imagine what the ensuing years may have held for this man and this Samaritan traveler.  That they may have become good friends, regardless of how that might have gone over with their communities.

And I’m reminded of a gentleman in the church I served before I came to Shepherd of the Hills.

I was serving a six-month “bridge” pastorate, between the interim and the called pastor.  The church was in a suburb of Los Angeles, and many of the members had been employed in aerospace when the Space Race was on.  They were experiencing the same challenges as so many churches, of dwindling attendance and a sense of loss of what they were all those years ago.

I was warned by the office administrator about this one gentleman – that he was opinionated and difficult.  My job as bridge pastor was to hold things in place, not to blow it all up.  So I tried to get to know folks – but at the same time, I structured my sermons so that the gospel story asked questions of us.

A few Sundays after I started, this gentleman – Steve – came up to me after worship and said, “Well – I don’t think I agree with you, but you make me think.  So – thanks.”  And he walked off.

But the Spirit had begun her always-amazing work.

At one point, I mentioned my son Tim, serving in the Army.  Steve figured I couldn’t be too bad if my son was in the Army.

Some discussions during coffee hour after church went well.

And as I think about it now, what I did was listen, and ground everything that could be labeled “social justice” in Jesus’ words.  That helped immensely.

Steve was the polar opposite of me in terms of politics and many other things.  But he loved Jesus, and he loved his church.  And he was willing to listen to new ideas even if it made him uncomfortable, because he found it hard to argue with Jesus.

On the day the congregation came to a decision on the pastor they would call, Steve came over afterwards and gave me a hug.  “I’ll miss you,” he said.  And it was then I noticed the tears in his eyes.

To this day, I am incredibly thankful that God steered me in a direction that allowed Steve and I to become friends. Had either of us stuck to our guns, it never would have happened.

And this is what Jesus is telling everyone in this story.

All these barriers you’ve made, he says – break them down.  Kick them over.  Every person is just trying to get through the day.

It’s like the bumper sticker says: everyone is carrying a burden.  Be kind.

There is a wonderful movie called Chocolat from some years ago that explores this whole idea of who is acceptable, and who is not.  Most of the film takes place during Lent in a small French town, and it follows the townspeople as they are liberated from what holds them back and find their way into living fully and completely.  I won’t give you any spoilers, but I will say if you’ve not seen it, you can watch it on Amazon Prime Video.  And you SHOULD.  It’s a wonderful movie.

As the action moves to Easter, much transformation in the folks in the town has taken place.  And the priest says this in his Easter sermon:

“I want to talk about Christ’s humanity, I mean how he lived his life on earth: his kindness, his tolerance. We must measure our goodness, not by what we don’t do, what we deny ourselves, what we resist, or who we exclude. Instead, we should measure ourselves by what we embrace, what we create, and who we include.”

That is what Jesus is saying in this story.  If you must measure, then measure by what you embrace, what you create, and who you include.

For that is the way of Jesus.  Amen.

Citizens AND Saints

Jesus didn’t say “when you pray, go the the absolute center of the field on the 50-yard-line…..” but rather that our faith might be known by our love for our neighbor. Luther also has something to say about governing from ONLY a secular or sacred base, and neither is complimentary! As always, we move in the world from a both/and perspective – we can be both a citizen of a country and a saint of God with allegiance only to God, not to any country. Challenging? Absolutely.

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10After this the Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. ²He said to them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. ³Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. ⁴Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. ⁵Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house!’ ⁶And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. ⁷Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. ⁸Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; ⁹cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’ ¹⁰But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, ¹¹‘Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.’ ¹⁶“Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me.”

¹⁷The seventy returned with joy, saying, “Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!” ¹⁸He said to them, “I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. ¹⁹See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. ²⁰Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”

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Dear friends, beloved of God: grace to you and peace this day from God through Christ, who really does send us out in such a way.  Amen.

Let’s face it: the words “evangelism” and “evangelical” have the ability to scare folks away.  Both inside AND outside the church.

The idea that we go out into the world and tell people about God is something that clashes with the idea of a country in which the separation of church and state is supposed to be important.  In which personal freedoms are held dear.

But here’s the thing: as I mentioned last week, Jesus does not send these seventy-odd folks out to coerce.  To upsell.  Or even to sell at all!

This is where the mission and message of Jesus REALLY clashes with our world: it is a message of God’s reign come near.  Incredibly simple – and also incredibly challenging.  It’s not about numbers, production, or any of the other values that our society claims are important.

Both these words, “evangelism” and “evangelical”, have their roots in the Greek evangelii which means “good news.”  Both have also been co-opted across the years as a means to a particular end, generally an agenda that takes great liberties as to the nature of the reign of God.

“Evangelism” brings to mind people coming to your door and monopolizing your time with tracts and booklets and warnings about how you really should consider THEIR way of following God – at least, if you want to go to heaven.

It brings to mind massive rallies and revivals that may have served God well in the past, but that have also served as fronts for political campaigns.

And the word “evangelical” has today become so associated with an aggressive, extreme-right flavor of politics – characterized by a flagrant marriage of church and state – that many of us are finding ourselves over and over again having to explain how we “aren’t like those Christians.”

There has even been much discussion in our own ELCA about dropping the “E” word from our name, because of the negative association it carries for many, many people.

And so this gospel story today does a good job of reminding us what evangelism REALLY looks like:  There are aspects of receiving and giving.  Keeping things simple.  Leaving any judgment to God.

And not rejoicing because of the cool things we did – but rejoicing because of God’s kingdom.

Unfortunately, much of what we see as “Christianity” in the public sphere today looks nothing like this, and so what we think of as “evangelism” feels like it may be doomed from the start.

Perhaps what the Holy Spirit is trying to tell us is that it’s time to rethink some things.

Both our Imagine Team and our Faith-Land Stewardship Cohort have been involved in

this kind of re-thinking work.  Moving away from the assumptions and stereotypes of the past.  On both teams, we are learning about the importance of four particular culture shifts:

*From ownership to stewardship

*From doing for to accompaniment

*From property to land or earth

*From scarcity to abundance

We see these shifts happening in this gospel story.  Instead of taking stuff with them, the folks sent out are told not to take ANYTHING.  They become stewards of their time, their mission. 

When they are welcomed into a home, they are not to lecture but rather accompany their hosts – be in relationship with them.

That seventy are sent is symbolic of all the nations of earth, as laid out in early Scripture.  Boundaries don’t hold the same meaning; this message is for everyone.

And in his proclamation that “the harvest is plenty” Jesus states clearly that God has prepared the abundant harvest, and Jesus is calling for laborers at harvest time.

Jesus does not define what the harvest is; that is for the seventy to discover as the go – as they move without baggage, literally and figuratively, on a journey that takes them beyond the restrictions they may have lived with up til now.

It’s not a grand plan of manipulation and twisting things to suit God’s agenda.  It is simply living into God’s reign of justice and joy.

There has been much talk in the last few weeks about whether the separation between church and state in this country is crumbling.

The troubling thing is that it appears to be only one particular flavor of one church for which that barrier is falling – though the press releases seem to paint it as the ONLY flavor.

It brings to mind Luther’s observations on an either/or approach to church-state separation:  “When the temporal government or law alone prevails, there sheer hypocrisy is inevitable….On the other hand, when the spiritual government alone prevails over land and people, there wickedness is given free rein and the door is open for all manner of rascality.”

[That’s my new favorite word: RASCALITY.]

Luther felt that God worked distinctly between all, yet equally in all arenas of life, whether spiritual or civic.  This view might seem odd in a culture and climate like ours where, by and large, either God stands against worldly institutions in a battle between the “sacred” and the “profane” – or God’s work in the church and in secular institutions are regularly confused, and even conflated.

But I submit that in our complicated world, we do well to consider Luther as we navigate these turbulent waters. According to Luther, God is seen as having tasks at God’s right hand and tasks at God’s left hand, working in many and various ways for the good of humanity. Traditionally, the right hand side is the spiritual and the left is the temporal (no superiority is either stated or implied!).

Luther’s theology invites us to imagine more fully how our life in the church enables and sustains our life in the world as believers who live simultaneously in both of God’s realms, spiritual and temporal or civic.  We not only perceive God’s work in the political institutions of life, but we join God in such work by, for instance, voting conscientiously, holding officials accountable regularly, protesting the abuses of government readily, and so on, all for the good of neighbor and the world. In short, we ask not whether God is at work in the political institutions of our world, but rather – and always – how.  And how God invites us into that work.

Jesus’ words to the seventy when they return are a reminder that it’s not about them in terms of what they did, but of who they are – beloved of God.  It’s about God’s actions through us, not our own actions.  By this we know that God keeps God’s promises to us, regardless of whether we feel prepared or even worthy.  By this we also know that God calls us into prayerful discernment about God’s work in the world, and not simply inserting our preferences in place of that divine work.

There is a wonderful song from the Caribbean that puts images into this concept of God’s right hand, working things in the spiritual realm that have impact in the civic realm; not through force or coercion, but through love.

It’s called “The Right Hand of God”.  It’s in our Evangelical Lutheran Worship hymnal, in the section called “National Songs” and it seems so appropriate to sing it this Sunday, as we are reminded how God calls us to be both citizen AND saint:

1 The right hand of God is writing in our land,
writing with power and with love,
our conflicts and our fears,
our triumphs and our tears
are recorded by the right hand of God.

2 The right hand of God is pointing in our land,
pointing the way we must go,
so clouded is the way,
so easily we stray,
but we’re guided by the right hand of God.

3 The right hand of God is striking in our land,
striking out at envy, hate, and greed.
Our selfishness and lust,
our pride and deeds unjust,
are destroyed by the right hand of God.

4 The right hand of God is healing in our land,
healing broken bodies, minds, and souls,
so wondrous is its touch
with love that means so much,
when we’re healed by the right hand of God.

5 The right hand of God is planting in our land,
planting seeds of freedom, hope, and love.
In these Caribbean lands,
let people all join hands,
and be one by the right hand of God.

Rejoice, dear people, for your names are written in heaven.  Amen.

Reality Check

Folks encounter Jesus with one idea of what following him means. He wastes no time setting them straight – because following is only part of the picture.

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Gospel: Luke 9:51-62

⁵¹When the days drew near for [Jesus] to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. ⁵²And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to make ready for him; ⁵³but they did not receive him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem. ⁵⁴When his disciples James and John saw it, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” ⁵⁵But he turned and rebuked them. ⁵⁶Then they went on to another village.
 ⁵⁷As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” ⁵⁸And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” ⁵⁹To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” ⁶⁰But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” ⁶¹Another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” ⁶²Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

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Dear people of God, grace to you and peace this day from God through Christ who calls us to a life of apostleship as well as discipleship.  Amen.

On first read, we might call this story “that day when Jesus DIDN’T get a nap.”  He comes off as rather impatient with his disciples.  Though admittedly they sometimes don’t look so good themselves.

As I step back from this story, what I would entitle it is “Reality Check.”

I’m reminded of so many situations, in my life and others, where what we think we’re getting into is so not the reality of that thing at all.

I think the first real experience of this I ever had was entering freshman year at UC San Diego – confident as all get-out, since I had had ALL the great drama roles in high school, don’t you know.  So I figured I was there to get the training that would ensure my smooth transition to a storied career on Broadway.

Oh honey.

It didn’t take long for my lofty dreams to fall on hard ground.  There were people in that program who were WAY better than me.  I did find a niche in stage management, and certainly my theatre training serves me well to this day.

But I needed a reality check.

In our gospel story, it seems that everyone interacting with Jesus needs a reality check.  I can sort of understand how Jesus gets a little terse with folks; he must be frustrated having tried to clearly preach the kingdom of God but nobody really seems to get it.

And this start of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem – to his ultimate destiny – begins with James and John asking if Jesus wants them to call down fire from heaven to get back at these rude Samaritans.

Small wonder they’re called “the Sons of Thunder.”

And here’s the first reality check: yes, there’s tension between Jews and Samaritans, but Jesus gives the Samaritans the benefit of the doubt.  Getting mad at them for lack of welcome isn’t going to change anything, so move on.

It’s not even “don’t get mad, get even.”

It’s just as Jesus says elsewhere: shake the dust off your feet and move on.

But James and John want those Samaritans to know JUST EXACTLY WHO IT IS they’ve snubbed.

Jesus doesn’t care.  Because his face is set to Jerusalem.

And James and John need to remember: this journey with Jesus is about love.  Nothing more AND nothing less.

Have you ever wanted to call down fire from heaven to destroy someone?  Someone who hurt you, or irritated you?  Maybe some pundit on TV that made your blood boil?

Sounds tempting, to be sure.  But Jesus reminds us that such is not the way of God’s peaceable realm.

As Jesus continues along, though, it’s hard to comprehend the boundaries of that realm.  He seems to be insisting that people do things that make no sense to us.

And I think the reason it makes no sense is because we are thinking in terms of being strictly a disciple.

#disciplelife sounds pretty good.  Follow Jesus.  Come to church.  Give to charitable organizations.

And I want to underscore, strongly: there’s nothing wrong with that.

But what Jesus calls these folks – and us – to is BOTH discipleship and apostleship.  And that’s where the discomfort shows up.

#apostlelife doesn’t sound quite as comfortable as #disciplelife.  Apostle Life means we are sent out, into the world, to tell people about Jesus.  For those of us who are introverts, this is our worst nightmare.  It might sound like we’ve unknowingly signed up for some kind of direct sales program.

But that’s not what “tell people about Jesus” means.

Recall the Gerasene man from last week who was possessed by demons.  Jesus didn’t tell him to “go tell people about me and get them to come to church next week.”

Rather, he said “tell what God has done for you.”  No coercion, no sales pitch.

And even in what Jesus says to each person who approaches him in this lesson, we see this interdependent rhythm of discipleship AND apostleship.  It’s the sort of reality check that urges people into a way of living life fully in the light and love of God.

My master’s thesis project in seminary looked at how our pattern and rhythm of worship – a form of discipleship – prepares us for apostleship.

I looked at each element of our worship.  Each element had two parts: discover and develop.  In Holy Communion, for example, we discover the concept of living in peace with folks with whom we share other tables…and we develop skills of sharing across economic barriers.

The discover part is the discipleship.  The develop part prepares us to be sent out into the world – as apostles.

It begins the process of pulling us out of our comfort zones, helping us to see the places in the world where we are called to bring the message of Jesus so that people might be freed.

As Paul says in our second lesson today: for freedom Christ has set us free.

And then we are drawn back into the center by the Holy Spirit.  Back to the center that is the gathered community, where we are again disciples learning at Jesus’ feet.  Where we are again discovering and developing.  Where we are again being formed and empowered to go and tell.

It is best symbolized by the mathematical symbol for infinity.  A figure 8 on its side – we are drawn into the center by the Spirit, as disciples of the living Christ; then sent out by the Spirit into the world, as apostles of the word and love of God.

Following Jesus is not a side hustle.  It’s a way of life.  While Jesus’ words to the two men with preexisting situations seem rather harsh, it is likely a use of hyperbole to make a point: following Jesus is an all-in venture.  We are not commanded to follow Jesus – we are invited.  And when we accept the invitation, when our faith and the Holy Spirit have led us to the place of stepping into the life of a disciple, the transformation begins – and we find ourselves hearing Jesus’ words “but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God” directed to us.

Going and proclaiming the kingdom of God is not a matter of memorizing a paragraph-long sales pitch.  It’s not about trying to entice people to come over to your way of worship or being church.

Rather, it’s about living faithfully in this world.  Recognizing the challenges before us in this world, and – as the late theologian Karl Barth recommended to preachers – “holding the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other.”

God does not mean for us to exist in some kind of alternate reality.  God wants us to be fully present in this world, proclaiming God’s love for all of creation.  Encountering the questions and issues of our day from a place of faith – not a place that runs off of pre-determined scripts, but a place that discovers how God intends us to live in the world and a place that develops the skills to make that happen, fully engaging with the world in the process.

This has been a turbulent week in many ways.  As a country, as a human family, as a planet – the stumbling blocks have been present.  Some devastatingly so.

But God does not mean for us to disengage from life.  God means for us to have life, and have it abundantly.  That is both gift – and challenge.  The gift of abundant life for us individually is a life of discipleship, of discovery.  Abundant life for all is the character of the peaceable reign of God, and we are called through developing apostleship to proclaim thatreign.

It’s not an either-or.  It’s a both-and.

For in that #disciplelife and #apostlelife, drawn together in the center that is community – we are transformed by Christ and set on the path of #abundantlife.

Maybe it’s not so scary after all.  And that’s a reality check I can get behind.

Amen.

Clarity of Vision

Jesus demonstrates what it means to not define a person by their issues – in this case, the man of Gerasenes possessed by demons.

Luke 8:26-39

²⁶Then they arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. ²⁷As he stepped out on land, a man of the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. ²⁸When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me”— ²⁹for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.) ³⁰Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” He said, “Legion”; for many demons had entered him. ³¹They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss. ³²Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. ³³Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned. ³⁴When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. ³⁵Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid. ³⁶Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. ³⁷Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. ³⁸The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying, ³⁹“Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.

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Dear friends in Christ, grace to you and peace this day from God through Christ, who heals and frees and then sends us out to tell the story.  Amen.

Quite a story, this Gerasene episode.  A man tormented by demons and some pigs in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And for centuries, this story along with several others in Scripture has been interpreted to mean that anyone struggling with mental health issues is actually possessed by demons.

That stigma remains present and active today.  We use the word “crazy” without thinking how that use hurts others (I’m as guilty as anyone).  We might look down on those who seek mental health treatment or counseling.  If we suffer ourselves, we may do all we can to hide it from the world, because we will be seen as less-than.

Thankfully, progress has been made in recent years.  But we still have a long way to go before we are at a place where mental health is considered just as important for and deserving of care as physical health.

Which is rather peculiar, given the way Jesus both acts and responds in this story.  For Jesus is very much a man ahead of his time.

When this man comes to meet him as the boat reached the shore, Jesus did not address the man, but the demons.  Before the man even spoke, Jesus had commanded the demons to leave him.  When Jesus speaks directly to the man, he speaks to him not as “crazy” but as “beloved.”  “What is your name,” he asks him.  And we hear no other dialogue between Jesus and the man until Jesus is about to leave.

Jesus makes a point of separating the man and the demons when he speaks to them.  He does not conflate the two.

To understand why this is important, think about how we might use the word “demons” today.

There is a figure of speech in English about “our demons.”  Those might be the things that tempt us, the things that trouble us, or the things that keep us up at night.

And what usually happens is we start defining ourselves by our demons – which more accurately can be called our issues.

(I will side-note here that I can’t deny the very real possibility that a person can be overtaken by forces of evil.  It’s the only explanation for too much of the world’s history from ancient to modern times.  But today I want to take a different approach to this story.)

The way this story unfolds helps us to realize that Jesus sees this man as a beloved child of God, and the demons as that which torments him.  They are separate.  He addresses them separately.  By so doing, Jesus does not let the issues define the man; he lets the man define himself.

How many times, and in how many places in our world, do the issues a person struggles with end up defining them?  Determining their future?  Holding them back from living fully as God intended?

Maybe you’re familiar with Temple Grandin, the world-renowned animal behavior specialist who happens to be autistic.  She has become an expert in both fields by not letting her autism be the only thing that defined her – even in an age when some might have used it to lock her in an institution.

Her TED talk on neurodiversity, “The World Needs All Kinds of Minds”, has been viewed over 6 million times.  Dr. Grandin’s issues don’t define her, and yet they define her – in ways that continue to surprise others.

“But wait,” you might say, “Temple Grandin’s autism is not the same as this man’s demon possession.  This man scares people!  He runs around naked, lives in the cemetery caves, and sometimes runs screaming out into the desert.  How can you compare the two?”

While their diagnoses might be different, the common thread is this: both are beloved children of God.

Jesus sees this man in this way.  He does not let the demons define the man; he confronts them separately.  By sending the demons out of the man, Jesus restores him not only to his “right mind” but to the fullness of being a beloved child of God.

But the townspeople aren’t happy about this; they’re afraid.  An odd response to healing!  I wonder if this man represented something of a scapegoat to them; that they needed him to be that way so they could blame things on him.  If he’s now made whole, then that blame game has been yanked away.

And so they tell Jesus “you need to leave!”  Probably not politely, as would the butler on Downton Abbey.  The man then begs to go with Jesus.

And here’s where Jesus really instills the man with his true identity as child of God and his new purpose – telling what God has done both for him and in him.

If the man were to go with Jesus, he could tell his story, of course.  It might even draw a crowd.  But by staying where he’s lived?  He shares the story of God’s work in his life to a people who knew who he was before he met Jesus.

Preacher Otis Moss III speaks of this man as one who had been imprisoned in the basement of impossibility.  But when his shackles are loosed once and for all, and his identity as child of God is fully restored by Jesus, then he is in the penthouse of possibility.

His issues have been named – and in that naming, they begin to lose their grip on him.

So it is with us, dear friends.

When we name the issue, it begins to lose its control over us.  This is why we begin almost every worship service with Confession and Forgiveness – it gives us an opportunity as people of God to name the things we’ve done and the things we’ve failed to do, that together keep us imprisoned.

And God in Christ is already leaning in to forgive, before we’ve asked.

I think of folks who’ve struggled with mental illness for years, and finally were able to get into treatment of some kind.  They speak of being freed, of finding their way back to an understanding that they are beloved.

Theirs is not a situation that requires confession and forgiveness.  But the end result is the same – we return to God, the source of grace and mercy, who like the father in the story of the prodigal son runs out to welcome him.

Our God runs to welcome us when we decide that our issues will no longer define us.  Jesus restores us to wholeness because he’s come to bring that wholeness to all of creation.

And surely the Divine’s deepest hope is that we will come to the same place; that we will see one another as God sees us.

It may be the hardest thing Jesus asks us to do.  And so he accompanies us on the way, and gives us the strength to love one another as he does.

The best way I’ve found to think about this is how the Gaelic language works.  The Irish don’t say “I am sad” – they say “sadness is upon me.”

This simple shift reminds us that regardless of what may be upon us – sadness, joy, fear, delight, or even demons – we are always beloved children of God.

Amen.

Keep Your Eyes on the Prize, Hold On

I refuse to accept that “nothing will change” when it comes to the endless slaughter from gun violence. Folks have said that about Every.Single.Thing. that has ultimately changed over human history. God calls us to stay the course, to continue to act, continue to pray, continue to believe.

Acts 16:16-34

¹⁶One day, as we were going to the place of prayer, we met a slave girl who had a spirit of divination and brought her owners a great deal of money by fortune-telling. ¹⁷While she followed Paul and us, she would cry out, “These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you a way of salvation.” ¹⁸She kept doing this for many days. But Paul, very much annoyed, turned and said to the spirit, “I order you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.” And it came out that very hour. ¹⁹But when her owners saw that their hope of making money was gone, they seized Paul and Silas and dragged them into the marketplace before the authorities. ²⁰When they had brought them before the magistrates, they said, “These men are disturbing our city; they are Jews ²¹and are advocating customs that are not lawful for us as Romans to adopt or observe.” ²²The crowd joined in attacking them, and the magistrates had them stripped of their clothing and ordered them to be beaten with rods. ²³After they had given them a severe flogging, they threw them into prison and ordered the jailer to keep them securely. ²⁴Following these instructions, he put them in the innermost cell and fastened their feet in the stocks.

²⁵About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them. ²⁶Suddenly there was an earthquake, so violent that the foundations of the prison were shaken; and immediately all the doors were opened and everyone’s chains were unfastened. ²⁷When the jailer woke up and saw the prison doors wide open, he drew his sword and was about to kill himself, since he supposed that the prisoners had escaped. ²⁸But Paul shouted in a loud voice, “Do not harm yourself, for we are all here.” ²⁹The jailer called for lights, and rushing in, he fell down trembling before Paul and Silas. ³⁰Then he brought them outside and said, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” ³¹They answered, “Believe on the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household.” ³²They spoke the word of the Lord to him and to all who were in his house. ³³At the same hour of the night he took them and washed their wounds; then he and his entire family were baptized without delay. ³⁴He brought them up into the house and set food before them; and he and his entire household rejoiced that he had become a believer in God.

Dear friends, grace to you and peace this day from God through Christ, who breaks open every prison door that keeps us chained and unable to act.  Amen.

Many of us are of an age that we remember the song “Keep Your Eyes on the Prize.” It was a stalwart of the Civil Rights movement. Popularized by Mahalia Jackson and others, the words “keep your eyes on the prize, hold on” were a reminder to the folks who marched and worked for human and civil rights that this is not an easy task; we must keep our eyes on the “prize” of those civil rights being codified into law. We must hold on.

The song is actually an adaptation of a song that emerged during the time of human enslavement in this country. It was originally called “Keep Your Hand on the Plow, Hold On.” And the lyrics went like this:

Heard the voice of Jesus say
Come unto me, I am the way.
Keep your hand on the plow, hold on.
When my way gets dark as night,
I know the Lord will be my light,
Keep your hand on the plow, hold on.

These words follow Luke 9:62, where Jesus says no one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the Kingdom of God.

Anyone who knows gardening or farming knows that if you plow while moving forward and looking back, you will not have a straight line. You will be diverted from the task.

The song was adapted in the 1950s by activist Alice Wine for the Civil Rights movement. And today’s story in Acts of Paul and Silas provided a great model. Civil rights workers were familiar with the story of Paul and Silas.

The song we know now as “Keep Your Eyes on the Prize” has been recorded by many people over the years, including Bruce Springsteen.  Those lyrics go like this:

Paul and Silas bound in jail
Had no money for to go their bail
Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on.
Paul and Silas began to shout
The jail doors opened and they both walked out
Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on.

Keeping that song in mind, let’s turn back to the lesson from Acts.

Paul and Silas don’t really walk out – I imagine they’re as surprised as anyone.  But the jailer is so terrified the prisoners have escaped that he is about to die by suicide. In other words, he is resorting to violence.

Paul calls out to him “don’t hurt yourself, we’re all here.” And what to the jailer seems incomprehensible breaks through: the light of the gospel of Jesus.

In that light, the jailer and his family are turned from the violent oppression of others to the peaceful liberation of all.  It’s not hard to see how this story became central to the civil rights movement.  The oppressor becomes the ally. The chains are broken. The doors are flung open. God is on the loose.

None of it, of course, comes easily. Neither in Paul’s time nor in our own.

Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on.

I believe this is the call Jesus issues to us today. It is the same call issued to all who have struggled against the powers that be over all of time. That call is: don’t be afraid, and don’t give up.

Perhaps you, like me, thought that after the horrific school shooting at Sandy Hook back in 2012 something would SURELY be done about the epidemic of gun violence in this country.

Maybe you thought the same thing after the shooting at Mother Emanuel church in Charleston in 2015.

Or after the Pulse nightclub shooting in Orlando in 2016.

Or after the El Paso shooting in 2019 that left 23 dead and 23 wounded.

I could go on, but I might also say “what’s the point?  Nothing will change.”

But what I DO say today is, keep your eyes on the prize, friends.  Hold on. 

We’ve all heard the statistics, over and over.  Time after time.  The number of mass shootings per year in the US is far beyond ALL other industrialized countries.

We’ve also all heard the standard responses.  Impassioned op-eds in newspapers and other media.  Angry people from athletes to celebrities to everyday working folks.  Thoughts and prayers.  Candlelight vigils.  Politicians drawing lines in the sand and declaring the only solution is either more guns or no guns.

Friends, this is akin to plowing forward while looking backward.  We are being deluded into thinking this relative inaction is the only response possible.

Far too many people who have the ability to make real change, won’t say or do anything because they’ll lose their support – and probably the next election.

In other words: their hold on power is more important than the lives of children, and elderly people of color, and anyone who has died as the result of gun violence.

Jesus is so clear about how we might address this kind of thing when he confronts those who hold power in his day.  Note that he does not condemn them!  He calls them out on their sin and leaves the door open for their repentance and redemption.

This is what is missing from discussion in our day.  We’ve condemned first, with no room for redemption.  We’ve made our neighbor the enemy.  (I recall that Jesus was also clear on how to treat one’s enemy.)

Just to be clear: I have been a registered gun owner myself.  My son is an arms sergeant in the US Army.  I may be from California, but I’m not a ban-all-guns extremist either.

Because here’s the thing: by our utterly binary, my-way-or-the-highway approaches to polarizing issues, we’ve eclipsed not only our neighbor, but we’ve eclipsed God as well.  We’ve left no room for the Holy Spirit to do what she does best, which is to be a mighty wind dismantling our houses of cards and our egocentric ways of thinking.

The story from Acts we read today reminds us that the Spirit of God has ALWAYS been about that.  Her dismantling leads to the transformation and conversion of oppressor to ally.  We must not stand in the way.  BUT – we also must not stand around doing nothing, relying on the fallback of #thoughts&prayers.

God in Christ has sent us into this world to spread the gospel of love, not the false gospel of triumphalism, or the utter evil of violence, or the resigned surrender of inaction as the only answer.  The gospel of love is one that relies on the truth, as painful as it might be.  For it is the love of Christ that will sustain us in the dark times, AND give us strength to face the forces that we name in our baptismal rite as “all the forces of evil” that we know are in this world.

If we are followers of Jesus, how can we be silent when politicians take campaign donations from gun lobbyists that total in the several millions of dollars – and then see to it that no substantive or reasonable firearms legislation ever even reaches the floor?

If we are followers of Jesus, how can we be silent when efforts are made to shift the blame to anything else?  How can we be silent when the cry arises “it’s a mental health problem” and never say a word about how the vast majority of folks with mental health issues never pick up a weapon?  (Not to mention how that continues to stigmatize mental health issues.)

We are not called by Jesus to pick a side and fight to the death.  We are called to discern God’s peaceable realm through the reading of Scripture and our lived lives together.  And then we are called to do all that we are able to bring that peaceable realm to being.

Here is what I think we all (including me) forget sometimes: God’s peaceable realm is already breaking in to our world.  God is simply calling us to join in the transformation – whatever the cost.  (Perhaps the reality of that cost is why we want to forget it.)

But if we truly believe that God is still speaking, is still at work and on the loose in this world, then it will not matter whether we “win.”  What will matter is that we continue to call a thing what it is, and proclaim the gospel of love for all of creation.

When Jesus spoke truth in all the situations he encountered in his three short years of ministry, it was always at great personal risk.  In our own time, we know of brave people who have spoken truth to power at great personal risk.  That we might be called to such risk should make us pause.

In that pause, I am reminded of the Reverend Allen Boesak, the first Black South African clergyman to join the anti-apartheid movement there.  He did so, as you might imagine, at great personal risk.  When I heard him speak some years ago, he talked about our call to take risks for the sake of God’s love and justice made real in the world.  He said:

“I believe that when we face the Almighty, God will say to us: ‘where are your wounds? If you have no wounds, then tell me: was there nothing worth fighting for?’”

Reverend Boesak spoke from the place of sustained wounds, physical and otherwise.  When we join the struggle for what is right, there will be wounds.  But we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us, through Christ who stands ready to clean and bandage our wounds.

I want to share a version of the Lord’s Prayer that reminds us of the places we are called to go and the things we are called to do, for the sake of the world.

Our God, who art
right here
in Uvalde,
again,
after Buffalo,
after Sandy Hook,
after Virginia Tech,
after, after.
Hallowed be thy gunshot body.
Thy kingdom does not come today.
We give you this day our outrage
and our mourning.
Lead us not into the temptation of apathy
and resignation.
Deliver us from the evil of idolatrous prayers
prayed while children are given up
on altars built for guns.
For thine is the dying,
and ours is the doing.
And both of us meet in
the work of rising again.

Keep your eyes on the prize.  Hold on.

Amen.

A Bad Day Fishing…

…turned into a good day for seeing Jesus.

John 21:1-19

21After these things Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias; and he showed himself in this way. ²Gathered there together were Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples. ³Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We will go with you.” They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing. ⁴Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. ⁵Jesus said to them, “Children, you have no fish, have you?” They answered him, “No.” ⁶He said to them, “Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. ⁷That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the sea. ⁸But the other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land, only about a hundred yards off. ⁹When they had gone ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish on it, and bread. ¹⁰Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.” ¹¹So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them; and though there were so many, the net was not torn. ¹²Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” Now none of the disciples dared to ask him, “Who are you?” because they knew it was the Lord. ¹³Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish. ¹⁴This was now the third time that Jesus appeared to the disciples after he was raised from the dead.

¹⁵When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” ¹⁶A second time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” ¹⁷He said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” And he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep. ¹⁸Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” ¹⁹(He said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.) After this he said to him, “Follow me.”

+++++++

Dear friends, grace to you and peace from our loving God through Christ, who feeds us and in turn, sends us to feed others.  Amen.

A colleague reminded me this week that in these stories we hear the first few Sundays after Easter, we must remember that the disciples are trying to process horrible trauma.

When we recognize this, we can better understand the choices they make and the things they say.  And so in today’s story, Peter and this particular group of disciples are exhibiting a very common response to trauma: they return to what is familiar.

They go fishing.

Of course, their “fishing” is not the recreational kind.  Even though Jesus has already told them “as the Father has sent me, so I send you” they are still trying to figure out what they’re going to eat, how they’re going to support themselves.

That’s another mark of trauma processing, finding something to keep you busy so you can avoid dealing directly with the trauma.

And then they spend the whole night fishing, and catch nothing.

Can you imagine what was going through their heads at that point?

They must have felt utterly, completely defeated.  Worthless.

And then some landlubber shows up and gives them unsolicited advice from the shore.  Yeah, that’s what we need.  Some guy who doesn’t fish, to tell us how to fish.

But I imagine they were tired enough at that point to just let the net down.

And THEN it became clear.  The disciple Jesus loved, whom we generally understand to be John, recognized that only Jesus had given them this advice before, with the same results.

More fish than they could believe.  Almost more than they could haul in – but they managed.  Apparently they even counted them.

Peter’s impulsiveness drives him to first put his robe back on, THEN jump in the water and swim to shore.  A bit odd, but there you go.

But what must he have thought, standing there on the beach, dripping wet and looking into the eyes of his Lord whom he denied three times?

Was he regretting that impulsiveness?  Because now, the shame of what he had done was likely taking center stage in his mind.

Thankfully, he was able to get busy hauling the net onshore from the boat.  And then Jesus says to them all, “come and have breakfast.”

Not a word about any of the things that have happened in the last few days.  Nothing about anyone’s denials.  Just words of welcome and hospitality.

It’s a scene with so many reminders: of the Last Supper, of the multiplying the fishes and loaves, and of Jesus washing their feet.

And ultimately it’s a scene of boundless and radical grace.  Of Christ meeting us in our places of trauma, our places of shame, our places of thinking we are falling short somehow – and him showing us nothing but generous love.

I think that is the real meaning of the number of fish.  Some sources tie that number to other meanings, but even 153 minnows is a LOT of fish!  Let’s say those were a species like widemouth bass, average size about 5 pounds.  Again – a LOT of fish.

God’s love for us is over-the-top generous, like this catch of fish.  More than is typical, reasonable, or expected.  And it’s given even when we might feel we don’t deserve it.

Because God does not operate in a transactional economy.  God doesn’t request payment in order to dispense God’s love.

In the story, Jesus knows the disciples are hungry, and no matter what he might have planned to say to them, their immediate need is to eat.  Jesus is a practical person; he knows that trying to have serious conversation on an empty stomach is a very bad idea!  But he also knows that the shepherd meets the needs of his flock before he meets his own needs.  Again, not a transactional economic model.

If anything, God’s economic model is backwards.  Upside down.  Not based on anything that makes sense in our modern world.

Jesus asks Peter three times if he loves him.  Traditionally, this is seen as Peter being absolved of his three denials.  But I wonder if what Jesus is doing is making sure that Peter understands, he is being entrusted with Jesus’ most valuable gift – his love.  For Jesus doesn’t follow Peter’s answers with anything like “well then why did you betray me?”

Rather, he implores Peter, “feed my sheep.”

In other words: pay it forward.

I don’t need retribution, says Jesus.  I desire reconciliation, and the best gift you could ever give me is to take all that I’ve given you and pay it forward.  To feed my sheep.  To guide them and empower them, the same as I have done for you.

You might call this a “crabgrass” economic model.

I’ve been pulling a lot of crabgrass out of my front garden recently, and the ability of that stuff to spread underground is staggering.

If God’s model of being in the world were one that only gave out love if we earned it, it would never spread.  We’d hoard it for ourselves.

But in the crabgrass economic model, God loves us WITHOUT anything on our part, and only asks that we pay it forward.  Spread it around.  Like crabgrass.

Think about the times when the church has had to be underground, LITERALLY like crabgrass.  It continued to spread!

It’s an economic model that doesn’t rely on being the center of attention, but rather finding the places where God’s love is needed, and being spreaders and givers of that love.

Jesus is honest with Peter about this model.  He warns him that it likely won’t end well.  And we see this today, don’t we?  The forces of evil continue to work against the forces of good.  Greed and pride and envy and all the rest – we see these on full display, leaving destruction in their wake, every day.

And yet, the love of God has continued to spread around the world.

Jesus comes to the beach, not to call back a straying disciple or to twist the knife about the threefold denial. He’s here to renew Peter’s calling. Because new challenges lie ahead. Vulnerable sheep can’t be helped by someone incapable of love.

God in Jesus comes to us now, today, to do the same.  To call us to renewal and love and new life in the resurrected Christ.  Not to layer more busy work onto our shoulders, but rather to invite us to seek new life in the same places – and in new ones.

To let down our nets on the other side of the boat, so that we might be reminded just how much God loves us.  And then, to get out of the boat.

Because new life awaits, and that love – like 153 fish – HAS to be shared.

Amen.

I Can Smell the Lilies

Sermon for Easter Sunday, April 17, 2022

Luke 24:1-12

¹On the first day of the week, at early dawn, the women came to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared. ²They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, ³but when they went in, they did not find the body. ⁴While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them. ⁵The women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. ⁶Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, ⁷that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.” ⁸Then they remembered his words, ⁹and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest. ¹⁰Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. ¹¹But these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them. ¹²But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened.

Christ is risen!  He is risen indeed, alleluia!

Dear friends, grace to you peace this Easter day, from the God of love through Christ, whose resurrection defeats the power of death forever.  Amen.

Many years ago, Easter Sunday came unusually early in the year – the opposite of this year, when it’s almost as late as it can be.  That early-Easter year presented a challenge we hadn’t expected – there wasn’t an Easter lily plant for miles around that was anything close to in bloom, just 6 days before Easter.

So we rounded up as many plants in bud as we could find that Monday in Holy Week, brought them all into the conference room, and ramped up the heat.  We locked the doors so no one could disturb this last-ditch effort to somehow have a few lilies in bloom for Easter Sunday.

My dear friend and colleague Pastor Dave Nagler and I were preparing to lead Good Friday worship.  We stood in the entryway at Bethlehem Lutheran Church in Encinitas, California, about ten feet away from that conference room.  Suddenly I realized what I was smelling, and turned to Dave. “I can smell the lilies,” I told him.

Our first reaction was gratitude that our crazy experiment had worked.

But with a little more time, we realized that the Spirit was speaking that night, not me.

For when we stand in the middle of the grief of Good Friday, we can smell the lilies.  Or the freesia, or the hyacinths, or whatever lovely scent you like that doesn’t set off your allergies.

We can smell the sweet, sweet smell of death being put away forever.

We read these stories, year after year, with the vantage point of 20/20 hindsight.  We know what happens next.  We know how the story – well, doesn’t end.

And so WE can smell the lilies.

But Jesus’ followers that morning could not.  No matter how closely they may have listened to Jesus, they had all apparently missed “and rise again.”

In all fairness, they’d seen enough of what the Powers-That-Be were capable of, when challenged.  None of Jesus’ followers were interested in continuing down THAT road.

And so we see in both the disciples and the women, two very common behaviors when one is grieving.  For some people, they cope with grief by staying closed up and away from other people.  This is the disciples; they stay together but locked away from the world.  They probably share stories that begin “remember when Jesus did…” and keep an anxious eye out the window.

Others deal with their grief by finding something to do.  This is the women in the story.  They go about the work of female relatives of the deceased, bringing the mixture of spices and aloe to the grave to do the final work of preparing Jesus’ body for burial.

But none of these behaviors prepared anyone for what they encountered that morning.

The gospel writer notes that the women were “perplexed.”  I don’t know about you, but that seems a REALLY mild word for what they likely were feeling!  I mean, can you IMAGINE??  Especially with all that has happened in the last few days.  I don’t think they were perplexed, I think they were on the first syllables of “OH MY…” and then the two men in dazzling clothes appear.

(Maybe that’s when they all think that they really ought to try to get some more sleep.  I don’t know.)

Let’s add all this up.  Jesus has been killed by the state and the religious authorities.  Everyone thinks “game over.”  The guys who’d been seen with him the last three years were in hiding, because they know they’re next.  The women didn’t matter in society so they continued doing the manual labor they always did.

And that’s when the news is told that CHANGES ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING.

Because these men (we can safely assume they are angels) ask the women this great question:  “why do you look for the living among the dead?”

Why do you look for the living among the dead.

It’s a question of cosmic dimension, limitless answers, and timeless relevance.

It is the echo down through the centuries of the prophet Isaiah’s account of God’s words: “see, I am doing a new thing!  Do you not perceive it?”

And every year when we tell the stories of Easter again, that divine statement continues to hold deep and lasting relevance.  “See, I am doing a new thing.  Do you not perceive it?”

I am still speaking, says the Creator of the Universe.  Can you not hear it?

My Spirit is moving in this place, says Yahweh.  Do you not feel it?

I am continuing to make all things new, says our loving God.  Do you not believe it?

Can you smell the lilies?

Dear friends, it is that sweet aroma of the power of death being put away forever.  Of our thinking we will never be good enough for God – to be put away forever. 

And of our being freed in Christ’s sacrificial love to love one another, even if – PARTICULARLY if – the rest of the world thinks we are fools.

When you lean into that freedom, when you love your neighbor without any expectation, without any limits – then you are TRULY free.

Jesus’ simple message of love was as radical in 33 AD as it is today.  But if the last two years, in a global pandemic, has helped us see anything, it’s that love is the way.  The ONLY way.

Loving one another.  Loving our neighbor.  Loving – ourselves.

This is the peaceable reign of God.  Where all are welcomed and set free to love.

It begins here, and now, with you and me.

And it begins again tomorrow.  And the day after that.

Because this world, this life is never without its difficulties.  God knows that – because God in Christ came to earth and pitched God’s tent among us and walked and lived among us.  And continues to walk with us, and rejoice with us, and mourn with us, and just get through the day with us.

And stays by our side through it all – because Christ has defeated death.

As the traditional refrain goes: All of us go down to the dust; but even at the grave we make our song: alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

So why indeed DO we look for the living among the dead?

For Christ is risen – just as he told us.

Take a deep breath, friends.

And you’ll be able to smell those lilies too.

Amen.

If We Only Have Love

The “Maundy” of Maundy Thursday comes from the Latin mandatum which means “mandate” – and the mandate Jesus gives is simply this: love one another.

John 13:1-17, 34-35

13Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. ²The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper ³Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, ⁴got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. ⁵Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. ⁶He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” ⁷Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” ⁸Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” ⁹Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” ¹⁰Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” ¹¹For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.” ¹²After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? ¹³You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. ¹⁴So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. ¹⁵For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. ¹⁶Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. ¹⁷If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.

³⁴I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. ³⁵By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Dear friends, grace to you and peace this night, from our loving God through Christ who shows us that love, and urges us to likewise show it to others.  Amen.

Gathered here by the Spirit this night – this is where the Lenten journey technically ends.  We move into these days of re-telling the hardest part of the story, the part that maybe we’d rather skip over.  Surely the last two months have been urging us to do that, as we see the big Easter candy displays in the stores.

But we know that resurrection cannot happen, if there is no death first.

If we want the seed to sprout, we must bury it in the ground.

And so we gather, as did the disciples, to hear the stories and share the meal.  Their stories were of the Passover; ours are of God’s people continuing to be cared for by God across the centuries.

1        Great God, your love has called us here

          as we, by love, for love were made.

          Your living likeness still we bear,

          though marred, dishonored, disobeyed.

          We come, with all our heart and mind

          your call to hear, your love to find.*

Your call to hear.

The Spirit has stirred something in us, and we lean in to hear a little better.  We have heard that we are forgiven!  That God loves us, even though we did those things.  Even though we still have trouble speaking to that person who hurt us.

And in hearing God’s call, we find God’s love.  Because God in Christ has both gone on ahead of us, and walks the road with us.  Jesus enables us to continue the work of the peaceable realm of God breaking into this tired and aching world.

But this year – oh, it is hard to hear that call again!  So much weighs on our hearts.  The suffering of the world is great.  Our OWN suffering is great!  The brokenness of this world lies before us; the divisions among people, the devastation of so much of God’s good creation, the heart-pain we all feel under all that cosmic weight.

And yet, we still show up, in one way or another.  We’ve had to get creative the last couple of years to do that – but God’s call is one that does not waver.

2        We come with self-inflicted pains

          of broken trust and chosen wrong,

          half-free, half-bound by inner chains,

          by social forces swept along,

          by powers and systems close confined

          yet seeking hope for humankind.

Isn’t that the bottom-line reason we’ve stayed in the fray so long?

That we are seeking hope for humankind?

That we cling to the promises of God, remembering with all our strength that God keeps God’s promises.  And we look for even the tiniest speck of hope for this world, for humankind.

Lent is a necessary part of that process, I think.  We pay closer attention to our own failings; we acknowledge how as a church, as a community, as a nation how we have failed as well.  We examine the dominant power structures and systems that are inherently sinful; and in the strong Lutheran way we call a thing what it is.  We don’t try to disguise it or dress it up.  It’s how we build the strength to come to these days, in this holy week.

3        Great God, in Christ you call our name

          and then receive us as your own

          not through some merit, right, or claim,

          but by your gracious love alone.

          We strain to glimpse your mercy seat

          and find you kneeling at our feet.

Lord, we have answered your call, and we have acknowledged how we have failed – but really, even before we finish you have already embraced us.  Like the father running out to greet his son who was lost – but is now found.  We may have thought that we’d never really be good enough – and then we are stunned as you take us by the hand, show us to a seat, and begin to serve us in such a way.

4        Then take the towel, and break the bread,

          and humble us, and call us friends.

          Suffer and serve till all are fed,

          and show how grandly love intends

          to work till all creation sings,

          to fill all worlds, to crown all things.

The roles have been reversed.  We who might think in terms of hierarchies and class structures have seen that idea completely upended by the Lord of Life, the Prince of Peace, as he kneels to wash our feet.  The task of the lowliest of servants is natural to him.

And then Jesus calls us to the same task!  “As I have done, so you must do,” he says.  In a week that began with a parade that exemplified political challenge, Jesus gets to the heart of the matter in this simple act of showing love to his friends.  And then he does not merely invite, but commands – mandates! – that we do likewise.  For the reign of God will not be brought upon earth by military might, by destruction or by death, but by LOVE. 

Notice the odd question Jesus asks his friends in the middle of his teaching. “Do you know what I have done to you?”

In his presence, we have been acted upon.  We don’t belong only to ourselves anymore; we are learning that when we serve in Jesus’ name, our private interests must be second to covenant ties to the welfare of the community.  In this realization, our transformation has begun!  At the core of our faith, the privilege-abandoning Jesus is the portrait of for the self-abandoning character of God’s love, inviting and empowering us to participate in that self-giving nature.

5        Great God, in Christ you set us free

          your life to live, your joy to share.

          Give us your Spirit’s liberty

          to turn from guilt and dull despair,

          and offer all that faith can do

          while love is making all things new.

Without Maundy Thursday’s mandate to love, Good Friday’s agony is little more than divine ransom, as if God were only in the bartering business.  And the joy of Sunday’s empty tomb is little more than the reassertion of divine gloating.  Dear friends, we know there is more to God than that; we’ve experienced more of God than that!

Jesus has given us the capacity to live beyond mere competition.  We are freed to wash because we have been washed; to forgive because we have been forgiven; to live graciously because grace is loosening the knots of self-absorbed greed in our own souls. The process of conversion (which by the way happens throughout life!) is a form of divine photosynthesis: receiving the light and love of the Beloved, so that the green fields of God’s intention for creation are continually renewed.

I’m reminded of a song by French raconteur Jacques Brel: “If We Only Have Love.”  One of the verses is this:

If we only have love
Love that’s falling like rain
Then the parched desert earth
Will grow green again
 
We might hear this Maundy Thursday story and think to ourselves, “if only!”  Our heart heaviness seems to have weight added every day.

But Jesus doesn’t add a behavior rule between the believing and the doing.  There are no extra steps or qualifying heats to be run.  “If you know these things,” Jesus says, “blessed are you if you do them.”

Consider the last line of our hymn of the day, “and offer all that faith can do, while love is making all things new.”

It is this pattern of divine and human collaboration that Jesus commands.  As our wider church motto says, “God’s work, our hands.”  We are called to be in the world, among those whom others kick to the curb, using our hands to offer all that faith can do.

Because we know that God will keep God’s promises.  Love will indeed make all things new.

Amen.

*“Great God, Your Love Has Called Us Here”  Text: Brian A. Wren, b. 1936; © 1977, rev. 1995 Hope Publishing Company, Carol Stream, IL 60188. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

Crazy Love

Mary of Bethany disrupts a dinner party for Jesus, and we are reminded that God’s love is most definitely without limits.

John 12:1-8

12 Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. ²There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. ³Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. ⁴But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ⁵“Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” ⁶(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) ⁷Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. ⁸You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

+++++++

Dear friends, grace to you and peace from God who loves without limits, through Jesus who shows us how not only to give but to receive that love.  Amen.

What does love smell like?

What does it look like, taste like, feel like?  How does it sound?

Our story today is very much a sensory one.  All the senses are engaged at some point.  And this story is one of a few that appears in one form or another in all four gospels.

I particularly like how John’s gospel locates this story, and who is involved.  Not every gospel places this event so close to Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, and only John’s gospel sets it at the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus.

The timing is quite specific: six days before the Passover.  And even with the extensive preparations that Passover required, when Jesus came to Bethany he was at this home, and they honor him with a dinner.

We don’t know the circumstances behind how these friends met; we only know that they were very close friends.  I have very dear friends who when I go to visit them, have a dinner so that I can see all my friends from their area.

What unfolds here in John’s gospel has an interesting twist: it’s shortly after Jesus has raised Lazarus from the dead.  Lazarus’ presence holds deep symbolism, as we’ll see in a moment.

Martha, as we would expect, is serving.  That’s who she is.  She serves in the manner of the Greek word diakonia, which means service among others.  She brings her considerable talents in this arena to the dinner this night.

And then as the meal proceeds, Mary does this wild thing of anointing Jesus’ feet with some outrageously expensive perfumed ointment and then wiping them with her hair.

The nard that is mentioned is a Middle Eastern wildflower called spikenard, and the oil that is extracted from this plant is amber in color and carries a very strong fragrance that has been likened to the citronella plant.  However, spikenard is a member of the honeysuckle family.  My research told me that spikenard oil is generally combined with another oil such as valerian root to temper the intensity of the fragrance, so it may have had a scent much closer to jasmine or some other extremely intense flower.

(My apologies to those of you for whom this might trigger a memory of a bad allergic reaction!)

John mentions the fragrance.  I think this is worth noting; obviously its worth was well known, given Judas’ reaction.  But I don’t think John mentions it to make a show of the social status or wealth of this family that enabled them to purchase such an item, even though it’s estimated to cost a year’s wages of the time.

No, I think John is careful to describe how the fragrance filled the room because it is such a tangible expression of extravagant love – the kind of love God has for God’s people.

Imagine, if you can, the most wonderful smell you can possibly imagine.  Maybe it’s the subtle perfume of a magnolia flower.  Maybe it’s the earthiness of the forest floor, or of good compost.  Maybe it’s bread baking.  Maybe it’s coming home to a slow cooker making that pot roast with the onion soup mix I think we all know and love.

Now, imagine the highest level of luxury you possibly can.

For example, the forest makes me think of truffles, those evasive and crazy expensive fungi that are the holy grail of so many chefs.  But whatever the scent is that you’ve recalled, imagine it to be so rare that just to catch a whiff means that something very special is going on.

I think Mary has caught onto this reality.  That being in Jesus’ presence, that hearing his teaching and being in his presence is something very special.  And I think she also understands completely that she must seize the day.  This moment is fleeting and she leans into it, no holds barred.

Is it appropriate during a meal?  Probably not.  But Mary knows that such so-called proprieties will only distract her from carrying out this incredibly extravagant, generous, and intimate act of love for her Lord.

She has heard what Jesus has said.  She knows that his message is not well received by the powers that be.  And she knows that when he talks about his death, he means exactly that.  He is NOT speaking in metaphors.

And so she prepares him for that journey, and the smell of the perfume fills the house.

Now in a way, it’s hard to argue with Judas’ objections, even though this gospel writer makes sure we know he’s the bad guy.  Because we hear the same kinds of protests and arguments today.  “Why is money being spent on THAT?  Why isn’t it being spent on this?”

This is a critical part of this story.  And it’s NOT just about the value of the perfume.

Judas takes this situation and assigns a monetary value to it.  But Mary seizes this situation and makes it holy.

Because sometimes that kind of extravagant love is absolutely called for.  Does it make fiscal sense?  Almost certainly not.  But is it the right thing to do?  Absolutely.

You could say that any of our helping ministries fall into this category.  Do they make fiscal sense?  Not from many points of view.  But this is the work to which we are called.  This kind of extravagant love is exactly what God calls us to give, not only to one another but to our neighbor as well.

When Jesus says “you will always have the poor with you” it’s not so much an indictment against that society as a reminder of the life to which we followers of Jesus have been called.  That is our everyday.  This is the unique, that thing that cries out “carpe diem!  Seize the day!”

Mary gets it.  She gets that now is the moment to give this gift.  She somehow knows that she is not likely to see Jesus alive again.  At least not like THIS.

And that’s where Lazarus’ presence is so intriguing.

Have you ever noticed that in the stories about Lazarus, we never hear him say anything at all?

I wonder if Lazarus is a symbol of what can be – of the future. 

As there is so much back-and-forth about the actions happening now, Lazarus is always present in the background.  Jesus’ work in the world is made real in Lazarus, and so he doesn’t need to say anything.

So where does that all leave us?

As I’ve said previously, we know how the story ends.  Or more accurately, how it doesn’t end.

We can find ourselves in many different folks in this story, depending on the day, the situation, and so forth.

But what speaks deeply here are Jesus’ words: “you will have the poor with you always, but you will not always have me.

“In other words, you have chosen a life that draws you into the suffering of the world; that calls you to walk alongside those whom the world casts out.  And that is very good.

“But there is a balance between the life to which you are called, and the one who calls you to that life.”

That balance, dear friends, is one that finds the best place for each one of us that holds both that life and Jesus who calls us to it.  A place that becomes attuned to the times when this kind of extravagant love is exactly what is called for.  A place that never becomes so caught up in the life that there isn’t time to spend with Jesus.

This story reminds us that the definitions others have of how our lives should reflect that balance are invalid.

It reminds us that because we know the rest of the story – at least so far – we are freed to continue to write the story.

We are freed to show love in ways that the world might call wasteful.

Because we are freed to love as Jesus did.  And as we will remember in the days to come, Jesus’ love for his friends truly knew no limits.

May we know that freedom, and may we love as Jesus did.  Amen.

Getting What We Deserve – Or Not.

Luke 13:1-9

¹At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices.²[Jesus] asked them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans?³No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. ⁴Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? ⁵No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”
  ⁶Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. ⁷So he said to the gardener, ‘See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?’ ⁸He replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. ⁹If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’ ”

Dear beloved of God, grace to you and peace from the God of second chances, through Christ who invites us into those second chances by turning to repent.  Amen.

Is it just me, or does the first paragraph of this gospel sound a bit like the shock-and-awe headlines of today?

And I can just imagine these folks who have come to Jesus to tell him the latest news, to see what he has to say.  The accepted wisdom of the day was that if some awful tragedy happened to someone, they must have done something to deserve it.

We may have heard similar comments about current events.

Comments like “they got what they deserved” or “well, that’s what happens to people who do [fill in bad behavior here].”

So these people may be expecting similar comments from Jesus, which of course doesn’t work as expected.  He deconstructs the story to refocus their attention.

Because the crowd’s attention is focused on pointing fingers.  On tracing some kind of horrible thing these victims must have done in the past so they were doomed to victimhood.  There is a word in German for what this crowd might be displaying: schadenfreude.  It’s when you take pleasure in the suffering of others.

I think we can all guess how Jesus feels about THAT.

And I don’t think he’s changed his mind in our time either.  If we feel a twinge of guilt when we gloat over someone else’s misfortune, that’s probably a good thing.

Jesus challenges the commonly-held belief that “you get what you deserve” and instead makes it quite clear that many times, we get what we DON’T deserve.  The Jews in Galilee and in Siloam, Jerusalem didn’t deserve such a horrific fate – but there it is.

“Instead of pointing fingers,” says Jesus, “what if you were to stop playing that whole game?  What if you worried about how YOU are behaving instead of someone else?  What if instead of feeling superior to those who suffered, you felt some compassion?”

And he invites the crowd to metanoia.  This word we’ve talked about m any times, that is poorly translated to “repent.”

I discovered a new view of metanoia this week: a change of Mind, a change in the trend and action of the whole inner nature: our intellectual nature; our nature of affection and relationship, and our moral nature.

In his initial response to the crowd, Jesus invites them to leave behind their commitments to the injustice and unrighteousness that is their schadenfreude.  When you abandon such commitments, it leads to a change in conduct.  For Jesus, that change is a return to the ways of God, which offer relationship over ridicule, and compassion over contempt.

Certainly in our time, in the last several years, the growing division in our country and around the world sounds like this.  The insults and accusations are thrown without care as to where and how they land; delighting in the suffering of “the other side” no longer seems to be shameful.

Make no mistake, it is indeed shameful, and harmful.

(And at times, very hard to resist.)

The truth of the matter is that Jesus could very well be speaking directly to us.  As I considered this truth, I had to be honest with myself about the times I was no different than this crowd.

When had I pointed fingers?  Talked about someone getting what they deserved?  Been delighted when a politician with whom I didn’t agree ended up in some kind of trouble or disgrace?

I don’t think that Jesus is urging us all here to ignore actual incidents of misconduct, whether minor or major.  It’s important for the community to determine how we will all live together in peace.  But in order for that to happen, we must be vigilant about our own behavior and state of mind as well.  Lasting systemic change must always be preceded by individual change.

Jesus’ extending of the invitation to turn anew towards God is illustrated well by the parable of the fig tree, the second part of today’s lesson.

Many of us here are gardeners, and some are even farmers.  What the landowner says to the gardener can make a lot of sense.  And the whole parable can raise a number of questions in our day: What kind of soil is the tree planted in?  Was it amended before planting? Has it been fertilized and watered properly?  Does it get enough sun?

Or, in the mindset of the crowd, was the tree a decent specimen to begin with or a lousy bottom-of-the-bin twig?

The understanding of this parable from my childhood was that God was the landowner, we were the fig tree, and Jesus was the gardener, interceding on our behalf to a stereotypically angry God.

But I want to push back against that characterization, because even though Jesus is understood to always intercede for us, I think it leaves grace out of the picture.  And that doesn’t make sense in our picture of a loving God.

Maybe we’ve been toiling along in a difficult situation – the equivalent to poor soil.  And in a production-oriented economy such as ours, the world doesn’t generally consider the quality of the soil – only that we aren’t producing.  And the world is more than ready to chop us down.  The budget doesn’t allow for such soil-wasting!

Now say that God is the gardener.  More specifically, God in Christ.

And God says to the world, “you don’t understand.  We’re still in the development stage here; you’re asking these fig trees to produce fruit at three years when every competent orchardist knows that fig trees can take up to 8 years to bear fruit. And by the way, this soil they’re in looks pretty sad – not fertile at all, and pretty dry. We’ll loosen the soil a bit so that water can get to the roots, and we’ll feed it with some steer manure. It’ll smell for a week or so, but it will help a lot in the long run. Give ‘em another chance.”

Dear friends, even if the world yanks us up by the roots and throws us on the compost heap – our God is the God of second chances.  And third, and fourth, and so on ad infinitum.

God helps us off the compost heap, turns the smelly manure into good growth, and patiently waits for us to return.  Because God is not finished with us, not at all.

God claimed us as God’s own from the beginning, but we tend to wander.  Get into a scrape or two, get ourselves into a bad spot.

Like the fig tree in the story.

But God will never leave us, never stop loving us, and is always ready to give us another chance.

How it must delight the Creator of the Universe, of All That Is, when we turn away from the things that stunt our growth in God and turn to the things that encourage us to bear fruit that lasts – the sharing of the love of God with the world.

I invite us all through this week to take a look at our lives.  At what might be stunting our spiritual growth.  What would it take to turn away from that, and turn towards what could feed and nurture our spiritual growth?

This is the radical transformation the Gospel requires.  It’s that change of mind, the change of trend and action of our whole selves, in order to follow Jesus.  Without that transformation, the Gospel becomes nothing more than pretty words on Sunday that are ignored the rest of the week.

When Jesus is asked about the political issues of the moment, he instead turns the focus back on the crowd, insisting that their metanoia is where the true change begins.

May we hear for ourselves Jesus’ invitation to that metanoia. May we venture into that new way of being, as a gift of grace from the God of second chances.  Amen.