A House Divided

Mark 3:19b-35

June 10, 2018

            George Malley was an ordinary man. He was a good-natured good guy. An auto mechanic by trade, he lived in a small town where he had friends, where he was liked, and where he was well thought of. George was unmarried, but there was a woman named Lace – a single mom with two kids whose heart he was trying to win. She made hand-crafted chairs. He agreed to sell them from his store. No one else was buying them, so he did. He bought every one. That was the kind of guy George Malley was.

            Celebrating his 37^th birthday with his friend, Nate, George leaves the town tavern and sees a bright light in the sky. George watches it as it falls to the earth. It is believed to be some sort of UFO, and after its appearance, strange things begin to happen. Strange things around George begin to happen. He learns a language in just a few hours. He breaks complicated codes. He moves a pen with his mind, and shatters glass the same way. He can sense when earthquakes are about to happen.

            George thinks that maybe this phenomenon, whatever it is, is a gift. Maybe he can help people. Maybe he can change some things for the better. But he scares people instead. They think he is out of his mind. They get angry with him. They shun him.

            It turns out that George did not see a UFO. It turns out that there was a tumor growing in George’s brain. The phenomenon was that instead of shutting down George’s mental processes, it was firing them up. Every synapse, every tendril of brain matter was alight. George Malley was not out of his mind. He was the most fully in his mind that any of us could ever hope to be.

            Some of you may have recognized this as the plot of the movie Phenomenon, starring John Travolta, Forrest Whittaker, Kyra Sedgwick and Robert Duval. If you have not seen this movie, I highly recommend it.

            Jesus did not do what he did because he had a tumor. Jesus did what he did because he was Jesus. But our passage starts with the words, “Then he went home.” Mark’s gospel does not begin with a birth narrative. There were no visits from angels, no heavenly hosts singing to shepherds in the fields. We do not know what Mark and his readers knew about Jesus’ origins and what they didn’t. And, let’s face it, regardless of what they knew about Jesus’ full identity; you know that there were neighbors who were going to only see Jesus as Joseph and Mary’s little kid forever.

            I’m sure I’ve told you this story before, but when I was first applying to go to seminary, I was seeking references from some of my professors from college. I called my teacher and mentor from the college radio station to ask him for a reference letter. We exchanged the usual pleasantries, then I said,

            “Mr. V., I have come to this huge decision in my life and I am going to seminary. Would you be a reference for me?”

            There was a pause, then he knocked the phone receiver against something, and said,

            “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

            Because the Amy he knew, college Amy, d.j. Amy, didn’t quite fit the image of seminary Amy – not yet anyway.

            So Jesus went home, and the crowds that had been following him, followed him there too. They were so great, that Jesus and the disciples could not even eat. Jesus’ family heard about this, and they tried to restrain Jesus, to rein him in. I can imagine them saying something like,

            “Jesus, what are you doing? What are you saying? Why are you doing these things?”

            I try to put myself in his family’s shoes, because they must have felt pulled in all directions. They loved Jesus. But they also had angry and disturbed neighbors and other folks telling them that their son, their brother, their cousin Jesus was out of his mind.

            “What are you going to do about it?!”

            To add to the chaos and the stress, the scribes had come down from Jerusalem, which if I understand it correctly, was not a quick trip. Jesus wasted no time upsetting the religious authorities, and they were watching him. I suspect they had people sending information about his doings to them. So there they were, on the scene. They accused Jesus of being Beelzebul, which was another name for “Lord of the demons,” or “Satan.”

            “He has Beelzebul, and by the ruler of the demons he casts out demons.”

            That was a pretty dramatic accusation. Jesus responds by speaking to them in parables, although these are parables that do not fit the norm of what we think of as parables.

            “How can Satan cast out Satan? If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand. And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand, but his end has come.”

            How can Satan cast out Satan?

            It is almost as if Jesus was saying to them, “Think about it. If I’m Satan, how can I cast myself out?”

            But what about all this stuff about a house divided? What about Jesus’ words about blaspheming against the Holy Spirit and that unforgivable sin? That’s the part of the passage that worries so many people. I’ll be honest; it has worried me as well.

            Growing up I was led to believe that suicide was the unforgivable sin. It was the taking of one’s own life that was blaspheming against the Holy Spirit. With the suicides of Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain this week, we have been given a powerful opportunity to talk about that. Why would a God who loves us enough to become one of us refuse to forgive someone who is despairing enough to take his or her own life? That makes no sense to me. I walk with depression and I have lost dear, dear friends to suicide. I cannot imagine God casting them out because they were suffering that intensely.

            Also, I’m paraphrasing Mary Bracy on this – without her permission, sorry Mary. The encouragement to those who are severely depressed to reach out is great. But we have to realize that when someone is suffering that badly, reaching out can seem impossible. We have to reach in.

            My point is this: despair is not the unforgivable sin. That is not blasphemy against the Holy Spirit. It seems to me that what may be blasphemy against the Holy Spirit is actually us trying to limit what God is doing through the Holy Spirit. It is us believing that those who do it differently are the enemy. Yes, Amy, I am preaching to myself. There are those who believe that I am not a “real Christian” because I am not “saved” in the way that they think I should be. But if I’m honest; if I’m really honest, do I think they’re real Christians because of the way they believe? I may have to say it through gritted teeth and clenched jaw, but they are believers too. A house divided cannot stand. Who am I to try and limit the Holy Spirit? Who am I to blaspheme against the Holy Spirit by saying who should be in and who should be out?

            When Jesus’ family came to him and wanted to see him, was Jesus dismissing them or disowning them or was he trying to make a larger point? They were his kindred. But his family was much larger than those he had by blood. His family was made up of those who did the will of God. There was nothing in his words about doctrine or institutional policy, just the will of God.

            A house divided against itself cannot stand. Who are we to limit the Holy Spirit? Who are we to decide who should be in and who should be out?

            Alleluia! Amen.

R & R

Mark 2:23-3:6

June 3, 2018

            Last Sunday when I was in Nashville, I went to church with Brent. His church starts at 11:00 am, fifteen minutes later than us. Phoebe called right when church was over here to tell me how our service had gone. Seeing that I was still in worship I declined her call. So, when we were walking out to the car, I called her back and said,

            “I’m sorry I couldn’t answer, Pheebs. We were still in worship when you called. How did it go?”

            Her response was not,

            “Church was great!” or “Everything was fine.”

            No, she said,

            “You went to church?!”

            I laughed and said,

            “Well yeah, why?”

            “You went to church?! On your Sunday off? I can’t believe you went to church!”

            I said,

            “Well Phoebe, I hardly ever get to sit in the pew and just worship, just be there. It was nice to sit with Brent like every other person and not be the one in charge. So yes, I went to church on my Sunday off.”

            She said,

            “Okay, I get that.”

            Then she proceeded to tell me how her Sunday here went. Thank you all for being so loving and supportive of her. Not that you would have been or done anything differently.       

Many of my friends on Facebook and other social media sites post pictures and memes that refer to the joys of reaching Friday. Finally! Friday is here again. They have reached the weekend. Now they can kickback and enjoy two days of non-work. It doesn’t mean they won’t have two days of busy activity, but it will generally be two days of non-work. When I hit Friday, however, I think

“Here it comes, the relentless return of the Sabbath.”

            Because, as we all know, Sunday – the Sabbath – is my prime workday. Many people think that this is my only work day. That isn’t true. But it is my primary one. Alternatively, while other folks moan about Mondays and going back to work, I’m like Monday! Six more days before Sunday returns!  Six more days before the relentless return of the Sabbath! When it comes to a day of rest and relaxation, Monday is my day. I try to protect my Mondays. That is my down day, the day that I recharge and renew. I do errands and other stuff on Mondays. But it is a day for me. Monday is my Sabbath.

            Yet, I realize as I say that that I am missing the point of what the Sabbath is supposed to be about. It seems to me that is the crux of our stories from Mark. The religious folks have missed the point of the Sabbath. Jesus cut right to the heart of this in verse 27 when he said,

            “The Sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the Sabbath.”

            What did Jesus mean when he said that? Think back to what your Sunday, your Sabbath, was like when you were a kid. Blue laws were still actively in effect when I was growing up. That meant very few places were open on Sundays. My parents were not as strict with me about what I could and not could not do on a Sunday as their parents were with them, but Sundays were still basically reserved for church, rest and more church.

            When my parents were growing up, they were not allowed to see movies. My mother snuck in to see her first movie when she was 12. She saw “The Pride of the Yankees: the Lou Gherig Story” on a Sunday afternoon. While my mom loved the movie, and she couldn’t believe her parents had kept her away from this magical world of movies for so long, she also felt terrible pangs of conscience for disobeying her parents. So she confessed to her mother what she’d done. My gramma was more upset that she had gone to a movie on a Sunday than she was that she had gone to a movie. That was the Sabbath.

            But that again begs the question. What is the Sabbath for? Why was it created? The book of Genesis, the book of beginnings, tells us that after six days of non-stop creation, God spent the seventh day in rest – a model of rest for all creation. In the Ten Commandments, the Law, we are told to keep the Sabbath holy. Was this a pronouncement because the Law was an end in itself? Or did God make the observance of the Sabbath part of the Law as a means to another end? Was the giving of the Law in its entirety a means to another end?

            In Jesus’ time and context, keeping the Sabbath holy meant following a strict set of rules and regulations about what you could do and what you could not do. It had narrowed from a day of rest from labor and holy observance to restrictions and limitations. Although, Jesus and his disciples were not technically doing anything completely unlawful in their actions, they were pushing the boundaries of the Sabbath guidelines. Jesus had been pushing the boundaries since the moment he arrived on the scene as it were, so it is not surprising that the Pharisees and scribes and other religious authorities were paying close attention to what he was up to.

            But Jesus challenged the good religious folk on what the Sabbath was truly supposed to be about. What did it mean to keep something holy? Was it only to follow the rules? Were the rules more important than human need?

            Maybe that is what Jesus meant when he said that the Sabbath was made for humankind and not the other way around. The Sabbath was made so that all creation could truly have rest – people who lived in bondage could rest from their labors. Even animals, who lived and worked at the mercy of the people they served, could have rest. If Sabbath was truly followed, even the land would have rest.

            And in the context of the Law, the Ten Commandments, the Sabbath was not just about rest and taking a day off, it was about relationship. Every one of the commandments is about keeping relationship – whether it is keeping relationship with God, by not worshipping idols – or with one another – by not coveting or envying what our neighbor has and we do not. We keep the Sabbath, not just so we can have downtime, but so that we can engage in worship, so that we can build community. We keep the Sabbath so that we can build relationship, with God, with one another and with God’s children in this broken, hurting world.

            To keep Sabbath is to rest so that we can return to the work to which we are called. To keep Sabbath is to see with clearer eyes the human need which is all around us. Jesus did just that. Jesus knew that the Sabbath was made for us, not us for the Sabbath. The Sabbath is not an end in itself, but a means to a greater end. The Sabbath is a day for R and R; for rest and relaxation, true. But it is also for restoration and renewal, for replenishment and revitalization. The Sabbath is our day for rest, so that we may go back out and work for the renewal of God’s world.

            Thanks be to God! Alleluia! Amen.

Still Speaking -- Sixth Sunday of Easter

Acts 10:44-48

May 6, 2018

“To the Lord let praises be
It's time for dinner now let's go eat
We've got some beans and some good cornbread
And I've listened to what the preacher said
Now it's to the Lord let praises be
It's time for dinner now let's go eat”

            That’s the chorus to Lyle Lovett’s song, “Church,” off of his “Joshua, Judges, Ruth” album. It is a great song and it tells a great story. The story begins with the narrator telling about his trip to church last Sunday. The service began right on time as it always does, but when the scheduled time for church to end came and went, the preacher just kept on preaching.

            The preacher told them that before they left they needed to think about the judgment day. Everyone was getting really nervous, because they were all getting hungry. The preacher seemed to read the congregation’s thoughts, but instead of winding it down, he wound it up.

“And the preacher he kept preaching
He said now I'll remind you if I may
You all better pay attention
Or I might decide to preach all day”

            As the song goes on, everyone gets really, really nervous because they are all getting hungry. Everyone was so hungry that people were getting ill; old folks and young folks, little children and everyone in between. But that did not slow the preacher down one bit. But the narrator came up with a plan. He snuck up to the balcony where the choir sat and pleaded with them to join him when he gave the signal. As the preacher was preaching and preaching and preaching, he prayed for God to forgive him, then he stood up and sang,

“To the Lord let praises be
It's time for dinner now let's go eat
We've got some beans and some good cornbread
And I've listened to what the preacher said
Now it's to the Lord let praises be
It's time for dinner now let's go eat”

            Then he raised his hand and the choir stood up with him and sang,

“To the Lord let praises be
It's time for dinner now let's go eat
We've got some beans and some good cornbread
And I've listened to what the preacher said
Now it's to the Lord let praises be
It's time for dinner now let's go eat”

            With that a hush fell over the church. And the Spirit descended like a dove from up above and landed on the window sill. Then the dove flew down to sit beside the preacher, and a fork magically, supernaturally appeared in the preacher’s hand. He ate the dove. To the awe and amazement of everyone there, he began to glow. He was, after all, filled with the Spirit. Then the preacher joined in the chorus. And the moral of the story as we are told is that even the preacher gets hungry too.

            The narrator of the song and the Holy Spirit itself intervened to make that long-winded preacher stop preaching. Do you think the people gathered around Peter, listening to his sermon, were getting hungry too? You might say this is another story of the Holy Spirit intervening, although to be fair to Peter, this was not a long or drawn out sermon. But I believe that this was a sermon that was difficult for some listening to Peter to digest. What we read in our selected verses is the end of a longer story that begins at the start of chapter 10.

            A centurion named Cornelius, who was a member of the Italian cohort – which means he was most decidedly a Gentile and a cog in the wheel of the Roman Empire – was also described as a devout man. He gave alms generously to those in need, and he prayed constantly to God. Cornelius had a vision from God in which an angel of God told him that his prayers did not go unnoticed by the Lord. In the vision Cornelius was told to send men to Joppa to get a man named Simon who was called Peter. After Cornelius’ heavenly visitor left him, he did what he was told.

            The next day while Cornelius’ messengers were on their way to Joppa, Peter goes up on the roof of the house where he was staying. He went up there to pray, and while he was praying, he also had a vision. His vision makes for another one of my favorite stories from the book of Acts.

            In Peter’s vision, he saw a sheet lowered from heaven by its four corners. On that sheet was every animal that was considered unclean according to dietary laws. Peter saw that sheet and he heard a voice telling him to get up, kill and eat.

            Peter refused. He had never broken the Law. He had never eaten anything that the Law said was unclean. He had never put anything profane in his mouth. The voice spoke to him again, a second time, “What God has made clean, you must not call unclean.” Just as Peter denied Jesus three times, he also said, “No,” three times. After the third time, the sheet was taken back up to heaven.

            Peter was confused by what he had seen and heard. While he was puzzling over the vision, the men sent by Cornelius arrived. The Spirit told him to go with the men. Peter and other believers from Joppa went, and they met Cornelius. Cornelius tried to worship Peter, but Peter wouldn’t have it. He told Cornelius and the other members of his household who were gathered there for Peter’s visit that they knew it was unlawful for him, a Jew, to associate with Gentiles. But he had this vision from God telling him not to call unclean what God had made clean. Cornelius told Peter about his vision, and that is when Peter began the sermon that brings us to our part of the story.

            Peter was still speaking. I imagine him cut off by the Spirit, mid-sentence. Perhaps he was unsure of what he would say next, or maybe he had the perfect phrase rolling around in his head. But that didn’t matter, because the Spirit intervened. It fell on all the people gathered there. It fell on all who heard the word. The Holy Spirit was being poured out even on Gentiles. And as our verses say,

“The circumcised believers who had come with Peter were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles.” 

While Peter was still speaking, before he could finish a thought or end a phrase, the Spirit did its work. One commentator said that the Holy Spirit was the true preacher here. Certainly, before I preach every Sunday I pray not just, “Help me. Help me. Help me,” but also “Lord, let your Spirit work through my words and make them your own.” Some Sundays I pray that harder than others.

Yet what is really so amazing about this whole story – from Cornelius to the interruption by the Spirit while Peter was still speaking – is that the Spirit was not just being poured out on the “other,” it was breaking down walls and leaping over boundaries that we humans thought – and still think – are necessary. The Spirit refused to do what the humans thought should be done, and instead did the work of God. While Peter was still speaking, the Holy Spirit whooshed through the folks gathered there; it poured itself and its power out on the Gentiles, the strangers, the others. While Peter was still speaking, the Holy Spirit proved that God was also still speaking.

There is a famous story about Gracie Allen and George Burns. Supposedly after Gracie died, George found a note she left him. It read, “Never put a period where God has put a comma.” In other words, don’t believe that you know everything. Don’t believe that what you think of as an end is really an end. Never put a period where God has put a comma.

This story, and indeed the entire book of Acts, shows us again and again and again that God was and is about the comma. The pouring out of the Holy Spirit was God still speaking, God still working, God still doing – breaking down walls and boundaries and divisions. The good news, the great and glorious news is that God is still speaking here and now. May the Holy Spirit interrupt and disrupt us today and always.

Alleluia! Amen.

Out There -- Fifth Sunday of Eastertide

Acts 8:26-40

April 29, 2018

I waitressed my way through college. I worked at a little restaurant and lounge in Nashville called J.C.’s. The owners were John and Sylvia Ciccatelli, so J.C.’s stood for John Ciccatelli, but it also could have stood for Jazz Club; because along with great food made by Sylvia, we had some great jazz music. The session players whose day jobs were playing music for the recording industry on Music Row would play jazz at J.C.’s at night. Glamour Magazine even included a blurb about J.C.’s in an article about things to do and see in Nashville.

It was a great place to work. It was hard work; being a waitress is a tough job and don’t let anyone tell you anything different. But I made good money doing it, and I loved the restaurant, my co-workers, and Chick and Sylvia were like my second parents. I never thought twice about being a waitress: until I went to New York City for the first time for a collegiate radio broadcasting conference.

Along with being a waitress in college, I was also a D.J. and eventually the Program Director for my college radio station. When we heard about this conference, a group of us from the station drove up to New York to attend. Although there were some up’s and down’s on this trip – there’s another whole story and sermon hidden in that sentence – it was still a great trip. I met a lot of different people from all over the world. But one person stands out in my memory. I don’t remember this man’s name, but we ended up in a conversation about jazz. I told him that I played jazz at the station and that I worked in a jazz club on the weekends. I’m not sure what he thought working in a jazz club meant; but when I told him that I was a waitress, it was clear to me that he didn’t think much of that position. I got that impression because he made an excuse to stop speaking with me and walked away.

Why all this talk about waitressing? Because Philip, one of our two characters in our story from Acts, was essentially a waiter. Let me clarify that. Philip was one of those chosen by the apostles to be a deacon. While our understanding of the work of a deacon is shepherding and pastoral care, the role of the deacon designated by the apostles was table ministry. They were to make sure that everyone received food equitably. In other words, they waited tables.

But these early deacons did not stay within their proscribed boundaries. Another well-known deacon was Stephen who went far beyond being a waiter. He was empowered by the Spirit to preach the gospel. But preaching the gospel can get you in trouble. Stephen’s preaching so angered and threatened those around him that it cost him his life.

Now we come to Philip. In the early verses of this chapter, we learn that a zealous man named Saul approved of the killing of Stephen, and that he began a severe persecution against the church in Jerusalem. While Saul was ravaging the church and scattering believers, Philip went down to Samaria and proclaimed the Word of the Lord there. Samaria: an unlikely place for the Word to be preached and Philip, an unlikely person to do the preaching.

But however unlikely it was that Philip would preach to Samaritans, what happened in our story was even more unlikely and incredible. In fact our story is pretty out there, both literally and figuratively.

“Then an angel of the Lord said to Philip, ‘Get up and go toward the south to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza.’ (This is a wilderness road.) So he got up and went.”

I love how the words “This is a wilderness road,” is in parenthesis. It seems to be an aside from the author who is determined to let us know that Philip was sent by the angel of the Lord out there.

On the surface it makes no sense that Philip would be sent to this wilderness road because who would he encounter there? But if Philip questioned the angel’s words, we do not read about it. The angel of the Lord told him where to go, and he got up and went. On this road, this deserted stretch of highway, where no one should be, Philip encountered a chariot returning from Jerusalem. In this chariot was an Ethiopian eunuch from the court of Queen Candace.

Here is another part of this story that is out there. An Ethiopian eunuch was returning from worshipping in Jerusalem. Why was this eunuch from a land so far away worshipping in Jerusalem? He must have been a Jewish convert. But a eunuch would have not have been allowed to enter the temple because of his physical condition. Yet, he had been in Jerusalem. Even more out there, while he was traveling, he was reading a scroll from the prophet Isaiah. The court of Candace must have been well off, and certainly this eunuch was, because he was able to read and because a scroll like that would have been tremendously expensive. Out there!

Philip saw this chariot and was instructed by the Spirit to go over to it. When I read those words, I imagine Philip running alongside the chariot, trying to keep up with it as he rumbled down this wilderness, this out there, road. Maybe the chariot was not going that fast, or maybe the driver slowed down when he saw Philip approach, but Philip was able to see what this Ethiopian eunuch was reading. When he saw that it was from Isaiah, he asked the man if he understood the words of the prophet.

The eunuch responded, “How can I, unless someone guides me?”

With that Philip was invited to join him in the chariot. The scripture the eunuch was reading was this,

“Like a sheep he was led to the slaughter, and like a lamb silent before its shearer, so he does not open his mouth. In his humiliation justice was denied him. Who can describe his generation? For his life is taken away from the earth.”

The eunuch wanted to know about whom the prophet was speaking: was it about himself or was it about someone else. With that Philip began to tell the eunuch the good news about Jesus. I think it is important to remember that we do not know exactly what Philip said. We do not know exactly how he interpreted this scripture to the eunuch. We are not given a set in stone interpretation. But what we do know is that Philip told him about the good news of Jesus.

Then another moment of out there happens. On this wilderness road in this arid and dry region, they came across water! Water! There was no probable reason for water to be there, and yet it was. When they saw the water, the eunuch – not Philip – brought up baptism.

“Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?”

Perhaps there were a myriad of rules and regulations preventing him from being baptized, but those did not matter. The chariot stopped. The two men went down to the water, and Philip baptized this Ethiopian eunuch right there and then. As soon as they came up out of the water, Philip was snatched up by the Spirit. The eunuch never saw him again, but he continued on his way rejoicing. Philip found himself in a new place, and without a look back, he went into the towns in this region preaching and proclaiming the good news of the gospel.

Out there; it is all out there. Philip, one who was designated for waiting on tables was used by the Spirit to spread the good news. An Ethiopian eunuch, someone who was the epitome of “other,” was in a chariot on a wilderness road reading Isaiah. Water, which had no business being on that wilderness road was there. Baptism, this “other,” this foreigner, this stranger with even stranger ways was baptized by this unlikely messenger. It was all completely and utterly out there!

But isn’t that the way of God? What we see in this story and, indeed, throughout the book of Acts was that God was on the move. The gospel needed to be preached, the Word needed to be spread far and wide, and God through the Holy Spirit was going to use messengers of God’s choosing to make that happen.

But if you think about it, all of God’s story, our story, is out there. In worldly terms it is completely out there, improbable and far-fetched. But isn’t that what makes it good news? What we think of as improbable and out there is really God’s work and Word coming to fruition.

This is good news. It is good news that God is still on the move. It is good news that the gospel still needs to be preached and proclaimed far and wide. And it is glorious news that God still uses unlikely people and improbable circumstances to make all of this happen. God’s good news is out there and we are called to be out there too.

Alleluia! Amen.

Faith In His Name -- Third Sunday of Easter

Acts 3:12-19

April 15, 2018

            There once was a man born lame, never able to walk on his own two feet. Life was hard for most people, but it was especially rough for someone like him. There were no programs designed to help him function in society. There was no technology available to help him overcome his disability. He was not mobile without the help of others. He had no living except for what he could earn by begging.

            It isn’t known for sure if the man was a person of faith. It is probable that he was born into a religious family. Most of the people in his community were. The Law of his faith would have been ubiquitous in his life, in his world – even if it was not the law of the land or the empire. But whether the man believed or not, whether he put much stock into what religion had to say, we don’t know.

            What we do know is that the man was carried to the temple by others everyday. While everyone else made their way inside to pray, the man was set outside of the gate called Beautiful so he could ask for alms. What irony?! How much beauty could his life have held? I can only imagine what he must have looked like – legs useless, perhaps he had a ragged mat to rest on, perhaps he just waited in the dust. What could he have seen of the people who passed by? Their feet? Their legs? Did he wait there in resigned and numb destitution, thinking that this was all his life was and it was all his life would ever be? Next to that gate called Beautiful, he lay, day after day, asking the church goers for their spare change.

            Maybe the man thought that this day would be like all the others? But it only takes one moment, one event for everything to change, for everything that was before to be over, and everything from that moment on to be new.

            This was that day. Two men were walking into the temple. The man asked them for alms, just as he asked everyone else who walked by him. But these two men did not just throw in a shekel and keep moving. These two men stopped. One of them said,

            “Look at us.”

            The man looked. He looked beyond their feet, beyond their legs. He looked at their faces. The men stared back at him. The one who told him to look said,

            “I have no silver or gold, but what I have I give you; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, stand up and walk.”

            Then this man took the lame man by the hand and raised him up. Feet that had been crippled were now strong. Ankles that had been weak were now sturdy. The man stood upright for the first time in his life. The man once lame did not just stand, he jumped. He walked into the temple with these two men; he walked and he leaped and he praised God!

            The other people inside recognized that this was the man they had just seen lying by the gate called Beautiful. This was the man they had seen unable to walk, pleading for alms so that he might live another day. They stared at him in wonder and amazement.

            As you can imagine, this man, this walking, leaping, praising man did not want to leave the two men who had healed him. He clung to them, and all the other people gathered there to pray ran to Solomon’s Portico where the three men stood: the healed man and the two who raised him up.

            “When Peter saw it…”

            That is where our part of the story comes in. But the healing of the lame man outside the temple gate is where the larger story begins. Peter and John were those two men who stood and stared at the man unable to walk. Just as Peter and John stared at him, the people now stare at them. Peter stares back. With that he begins to preach. That is what our part of this story is: a sermon.

            “You Israelites, why do you wonder at this, or why do you stare at us, as though by our own power or piety we had made him walk? The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, the God of our ancestors has glorified his servant Jesus, whom you handed over and rejected in the presence of Pilate, though he had decided to release him. But you rejected the Holy and Righteous One and asked to have a murderer given to you, and you killed the Author of life, who God raised from the dead. To this we are witnesses. And by faith in his name, his name itself has made this man strong, whom you see and know; and the faith that is through Jesus has given him this perfect health in the presence of all of you.”

            That’s quite an opening to a sermon, isn’t it? Hey folks, why are you so amazed? This man was healed in the name of Jesus. Remember Jesus? He’s the one you rejected. He’s the one you had handed over. He’s the one whose life you traded for a murderer. He’s the one you killed. That’s who healed this man. Not us. It was his name that healed this man. Faith in his name made this man walk; made him whole again.

            I’m not sure if this would be considered a good way to win friends and influence people. Peter does go on to tell them that they acted out of ignorance, as did their rulers. But the good news, folks, is that God used their ignorance; God used their rejection for the good. In fact their rejection and Jesus’ suffering fulfilled all that the prophets had foretold about the Messiah.

            Although his sermon goes on, we end with Peter’s call to the people to repent. They did act out of ignorance, and God still worked good from it, but now they can repent. Now they can turn to God and their sins will be wiped out, wiped away, erased and forgotten.

            Tough words. Hard words. Even Peter’s proclamation that the people and the rulers acted out of ignorance does nothing to soften them. What I find disturbing about this passage, and others like it, is that it has been used to justify condemnation and persecution of Jews throughout the centuries. They were the “Christ killers.” This persecution is not an ancient event either.

            Another aspect of this that bothers me is that Peter also rejected Jesus. He may not have cried, “Crucify him,” but he denied him. He was afraid. He could not stand by his Teacher, his Rabbi. So maybe when you point that finger, Pete, you should point it at yourself first.

            But Peter preached about repentance. He called the people to repent. Repenting is not just remorse or being sorry or sorrowful for some bad thing you’ve done. And while the translation from the Greek is “turn around,” it is also more layered than just a returning to God. It is a fundamental change in perspective, in understanding. In seminary I learned the term, “paradigm shift,” as a way to describe this kind of change, this kind of repentance. I’ve had a number of paradigm shifts in my lifetime. It is that moment when your eyes are opened in a way they have never been before, and you see that you are complicit in something – some unjust system or institution or way of life. And you can never unsee what you have seen, you can never have your eyes closed again. It’s just too big, too monumental.

            Isn’t that what happened to Peter and the other disciples, now apostles? In the resurrection, in the giving of the Holy Spirit, they saw what they could not see before. The foundation of their world was shaken to its core. Their eyes were opened and they could not remain blind anymore. The resurrection completely and utterly changed everything.

            Peter and the other apostles repented. They turned. They saw. They believed. They refused to remain blind. So while Peter’s words were harsh, maybe he did know that the finger of blame was also pointed at him. But maybe he also realized what repentance could really mean, what it could really do. So was his sermon about condemnation or was it a plea? Was he imploring the people to understand what they did, not for the sake of guilt but so that they too might be able to see; so that they too could repent, turn, and be healed, be whole, find faith in the name of Jesus?

            As I said last week, the underlying theme, the fundamental motif of Acts is to show what the community of faith looked like post resurrection. These were the original Easter people. They were trying to live out the good news of Jesus the Christ in word and in deed. Peter’s words were not spoken so that centuries of Jewish people could be persecuted. Peter was his calling his people to repent, to turn to God. And he was calling them to see, to really see what faith in Jesus’ name could look like. Faith in his name could look like a man, once lame, walking and leaping and praising God.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!” Amen.

Can You Imagine? Second Sunday of Easter

Acts 4:32-35 (36-37)

April 8, 2018

Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people living for today

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people living life in peace, you

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope some day you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people sharing all the world, you

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope some day you'll join us
And the world will be as one

            Those are the lyrics to a rather famous song by a guy you might have heard of: John Lennon. He used to be in this band called The Beatles. I heard they were kind of famous at one time.

            This is probably one of the best known songs from the late John Lennon’s solo career. I learned from my rock and roll/Beatles historian, Brent Stoker, that John said he should have given songwriting credit to Yoko Ono. She was the one who wrote about imagining. Regardless of the credit, this is a song that a lot of people know and associate with John Lennon.

            These are also lyrics that some people find offensive, even threatening. The first verse calls on the listener to imagine there is no heaven, no hell. Imagine that we are not surrounded by a supernatural afterworld waiting to punish or reward. Above us there is only sky. If someone of faith doesn’t appreciate those opening lines, they really must not like the second verse either when Lennon calls us to imagine a world with no countries, no loyalties to fight for, live or die for, and no religion too.

            I realize John Lennon was not a religious person. He eschewed formal religion and all its trappings. But personally, I don’t find this song completely antithetical to people of faith, to those of us who live lives based in and because of faith. What would it be like if we lived lives, not solely focused on heaven or hell, but on this moment now? Would it make us take the present a little more seriously, a little less for granted, if we stopped worrying about the afterlife? Can you imagine?

            I think our passage from Acts also makes people uncomfortable. I think these verses also make people feel threatened. Do you remember in the gospels when Jesus told the rich young ruler that, sure, he followed the commandments to the letter, but he had one more thing that he needed to do: sell all of his possessions and give them to the poor? The rich young ruler couldn’t do what Jesus asked of him, because he had great material wealth and giving that up was too much. I’ve heard countless sermons – some that I’ve preached – and countless apologists gloss over Jesus’ words.

            “That’s not what Jesus meant really.”

            “Jesus does not expect all people to give up their possessions or sell off all their wealth.”

            Except … Jesus said to do just that. We don’t have to like it; we don’t have to agree with it. But Jesus said it. I think that same tendency to gloss over what we read applies to this passage as well.

            “Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common.”

            Yikes! If we’re supposed to be doing that, then we are a long way off from living as the Word of God intends, aren’t we? I have quite a few possessions, and yet I have made no move to sell any of them or hold them in common with others. But that is what this community, this early community of believers did. Although our particular part of this passage ends at verse 35, if you read verses 36 and 37 you will hear about another man in this community. He was a Levite, whose name was Joseph, but he was called Barnabas by the apostles. Barnabas means “son of encouragement.” Barnabas owned a field which he sold, and he brought that money, that profit, and also laid it at the apostle’s feet.

            This passage is one of the many that highlights the underlying theme of Acts. What does it mean to live together when you believe that Jesus lives? What does it mean to be a church of people who believe in the resurrection? These were people, believers – new and old, who lived post-resurrection. Not all would have witnessed the resurrected Christ, but they believed in that so strongly that they were trying to shape their lives together around what the resurrection meant to them.

            Can you imagine?

            Let’s be clear: the new church in Acts did not always get it right. There were conflicts, not just among believers, but among the apostles. You can’t read too far in Paul’s letters to the church in Corinth without realizing that the early church had conflict and struggles over interpretation and living out what they believed it meant to be the church. Acts is not a perfect blueprint or a checklist for being a church, the Church. But it is a larger story of people living as though the resurrection happened, as though everything they understood or knew or thought had changed.        

We could make the statement that we are trying to do the same thing. We too believe in the resurrection, the resurrected Christ, and we are trying to shape our lives around that belief. That is why we are a church, a congregation. We believe in the resurrection, and we try to live as though we do.

The challenge comes, and it was the same challenge that the early church faced, is that nothing in the world around us seems to have changed. Everything seems the same. Innocents in countries like Syria are still dying because of a brutal, bloody civil war. Many of our sisters and brothers in Puerto Rico do not have electricity and access to clean water and the necessities for life. Our teachers, in this state and others, are forced to walk out of classrooms because not only are they not paid a living wage but our students don’t have the basics they need to learn. We are as divided as ever – here at home and around the world. Nothing seems to have changed, and it is easy to lose hope because it seems that humanity never will change.

Can you imagine?

So we believe in the resurrection, and we are technically Easter people, a post-resurrection community. But what does that mean? What difference does that make? I’m not going to stand up here and tell you that it is time to sell all of our possessions and put them in a common purse. But maybe we need to think about how we think about the resurrection? Is it doctrine or is it relationship? If it is only doctrine than we can recite our beliefs in our creeds and move on; but if believing in the resurrection means that we see it as new relationship then everything really is different.

It seems to me that these early believers, this community of folks trying to live together, saw the resurrection as relationship. They were trying to live together as Jesus the man and the resurrected Christ would have them live. When we think about our lesson from John’s gospel, was Thomas seeking proof? No. He wanted what the others had already received – a new relationship with the Jesus who rose from death to new life. When we let go of resurrection only as doctrine, a tenet to which we must ascribe, and view it instead as relationship, new relationship with the Christ, with God and with one another, then we do live as though everything has changed. Because it has! We are Easter people!

Can you imagine what our lives together can and will look like when we see resurrection as relationship? Can you imagine what our lives together can and will look like when we focus our living – not only on the afterlife but how we live right now? Can you imagine the abundant possibilities to witness and live out the love of God when we focus on the new relationship we have been given in the resurrection?

Can you imagine?

Let all God’s people say, “Alleluia!” Amen.

Just As He Told You -- Easter Sunday

Mark 16:1-8

April 1, 2018

            “Five more minutes, folks. Five more minutes.” 

            No three words have filled my heart with such dread as “five more minutes.” Why would an announcement of time cause such consternation in my soul? Out of context it makes no sense. It is the context that makes the difference.

            “Five more minutes,” were the words I would hear during an exam. “Five more minutes,” was spoken by the test proctor to let all of us taking the exam know that our time was almost over. When I was taking a straightforward question and answer test, hearing “five more minutes,” did not bother me all that much. It was when I was writing an essay that the announcement, “five more minutes,” made my heart constrict within my chest.

            Why? Generally, I’m a good essay writer. As long as I’ve studied and know the information I am supposed to, I can usually organize my thoughts quickly and write them down cohesively and cogently. Yet hearing, “five more minutes,” would make me realize that I had to wrap things up and wrap them up quickly. I needed to make my point, draw a conclusion and be done already. I know that I have ended several essays abruptly because of the words, “five more minutes.” I know that I have missed some finer points I hoped to make because the announcement that my time was almost done made me rush to get to the ending.

            Reading these eight verses in Mark’s gospel makes me wonder if Mark wasn’t under some time constraint; even if it was of his own making. Although we have two other endings to Mark’s gospel: the shorter and the longer; it is widely believed by scholars that this is the original ending to Mark’s telling of the story of Jesus.  

            To say that the ending is abrupt is an understatement. There is no happy ending. There is no neat conclusion with all the loose ends tied up in a pretty bow. We don’t even get another appearance from Jesus. Just these three women and a young man dressed in white. Was he an angel? It would seem so, but the text does not state that specifically. What is made clear is that the women did not do what the young man instructed them to do. They did not run right off to tell the disciples and Peter the good news. Instead, fright made them mute. They were overcome and overwhelmed by the young man’s appearance and message. They ran away in terror and amazement; telling no one what they had seen or heard.

            No, this is not a tidy ending. Matthew and Luke must have concurred on that point – their gospels end more conclusively. Whoever the scribes or monks or editors were who added the shorter and the longer endings, they must not have been satisfied with the way Mark left it either. Perhaps Mark heard his own version of “five more minutes,” and rushed to finish. Or perhaps this was exactly the kind of ending – or lack thereof – that he was going for.

            Mark’s version of the good news is open-ended because so is the good news. The good news of the gospel did not end with the resurrection or even the ascension. It did not end with the women running to tell the disciples or the disciples checking the story out for themselves. It did not end with the upper room at Pentecost or in the early churches Paul helped bring to fruition. The good news, the gospel does not end. If it had an ending, it really wouldn’t be the good news of God, would it?

            I resonate with Mark’s gospel the most of all four – one because his version of Jesus is the most human, and two, because when it comes to getting what Jesus was trying to tell them, the disciples fail spectacularly most of the time. As do I. Mark was brutally honest about the disciples’ failings. In verse 8, the women do not fare much better. But I don’t believe that Mark was trying to disparage them. All of them were afraid. All of them were amazed and terrified by the good news Jesus told them. Mark understood this. I think Mark recognized that it would take generations of people to begin to get a glimpse of what Jesus came and did, of who he truly was and is. I think Mark realized that the good news would not be good news if it ended with the people in the original story. For all his immediacy and urgency, I don’t believe Mark finished his gospel because of some time limit. I think he left it where it was so that the next generation of disciples – those people he originally wrote the gospel for and us – could pick up the story and take it into the future.

            But here’s the thing: the news of Jesus’ resurrection did spread. Perhaps the women shook themselves and did what the young man requested after all. Perhaps they went to the disciples and to Peter and told them what they had heard, what they had seen. Maybe they got it together enough to remember what Jesus had told them, and they reminded the disciples of his words as well.

            It’s possible that what was supposed to happen did happen. They woke up from their amazement and terror and took the good news to Galilee. They met Jesus there. They made sure the word of the Lord was spread and far and wide. Maybe the reality was closer to the shorter and longer ending then we realize. Maybe it wasn’t. But whatever the ending was of Mark’s particular chapter, the story goes on and on. Some refer to the story of Jesus as the greatest story ever told. I think of it more as the unending story. Each of us contributes sentences and paragraphs. Each of us adds to the unfolding narrative.

            Jesus told them he would meet them in Galilee. And he tells us that as well. What is Galilee anyway? Jesus was not asking them to have coffee with him at the Galilean IHOP. Jesus was telling them to meet him in the place where the marginalized were found. Galilee was the place of the poor, the oppressed, the forgotten, the lost and the lonely. There, he told them, among those folks, that was where they would meet him.

            Just as Jesus told them, Jesus tells us. We are also called to go to our Galilees. We are also called to put ourselves in the midst of the least of these. Jesus tells us that it is there, on the margins, where we will meet him. Jesus told us this. He has been telling us this all along. And the good news, the gospel, the story of God and God’s Son and God’s people, continues whenever we shake ourselves out of our fear and amazement, and go to Galilee. The resurrection happens again and again, whenever hope rises out of despair, whenever joy rises out of sorrow, whenever we recognize the holy in the midst of the ordinary, whenever we let go of our fear and make our way to Galilee. It is there we see Jesus. It is there we meet the risen Lord. It is there we understand that God has done and is doing and will do a new and wonderful thing. He is risen! Death does not win. The bonds of sin are broken. He. Is. Risen!

            Let all of God’s children, tellers of God’s good news, say “Alleluia!” Amen.